


New Dawn

by yesmilady (AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha)



Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Humor and Heartbreak, M/M, Mystery, Supernatural Lore, Weird Uncle Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 51,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha/pseuds/yesmilady
Summary: A few lost kids try to make it home with only a voice on the radio to guide them.(New Dawn is part of a series that is set in a shared universe. The timeline is the same as in both shows, although the canon divergence in the Supernatural universe takes place earlier. The events detailed in the inside summary will be covered in the planned prequels).





	1. It's a New Day

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUT WARNINGS:
> 
> I've chosen to opt out of warnings. I REPEAT: THIS STORY WILL NOT FEATURE ANY TRIGGER WARNINGS. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to contact me. If you're worried about any specific triggers, please feel free to contact me. If you want the trigger warnings anyway and don't care about spoilers, please feel free to contact me.
> 
> Note that the story will only get as dark as the source material, which is... plenty dark on its own. It's also a very light-hearted story at the same time, so, yay?
> 
> THE ROAD SO FAR - SUMMARY OF PAST EVENTS
> 
> Dean Winchester makes it out of Purgatory only to find that the world went to hell in his absence. In the years that follow Dean finds his family, falls in love, loses a few friends, and generally, basically, fights to keep on living. Eventually, things start going Dean's way. And then, someone important to him disappears.
> 
> Rick Grimes wakes up from a coma only to find that the world went to hell in his absence. In the years that follow Rick finds his family, falls in love, loses a few friends, and generally, basically, fights to keep on living. Eventually, things start going Rick's way. And then, someones important to him disappear.
> 
> This is not their story.
> 
> Established Rick/Michonne, established Dean/Castiel.
> 
> (SPN canon divergence as of 8.01. TWD canon divergence as of 6.14. Rick carries out the deal with the Hilltop community but hasn't met Negan yet.)

Rick Grimes woke up to the sound of birds.

He remembered waking up to worse sounds. Like walker moans, or his old phone’s alarm tone, when he spent the night on the couch because he had a fight with Lori, and was too wound up to go to sleep at a decent hour even though he had work in the morning, watching infomercials instead. 

Or like walker moans.

The birds were kind of loud, though. Michonne obviously felt that way, from the way she grumbled in her sleep, burrowing her head against his back. 

Animals, in general, hadn’t fared well in the new world. He’d encountered his share of them over time, but it was obvious their numbers dwindled, domestic animals and wildlife alike. Cats and dogs had either gone feral, were eaten when their people got too hungry or survived in closely guarded communities like Alexandria.

Wildlife too was scarce - as he and his family learned while living on the road, there was simply not enough fresh meat to go around, no matter how hard Daryl applied himself. It was a shame, Rick thought. No matter how strong, fast or agile the animal was, the damn walkers got into everywhere, through either strength or sheer numbers. 

But, it wasn’t just the shambling, roaming dead that were a threat to the wildlife. Animals didn’t turn if they got bit (though they got sick and died just like humans). They died if _they_ themselves bit into the dead. Rick had heard of it from other survivors, but he’d seen it for himself in Alexandria not too long ago. 

His neighbors, a sweet old couple, used to have a Doberman by the name of Charlie - a friendly, docile old thing that was lucky enough to arrive in Alexandria with his owners at the very beginning. After the walker herd attack ended, Charlie helped himself to a fresh enough walker cadaver before any of the cleanup teams got to it. The poor dog took ill and died in a matter of hours. 

Birds didn’t get sick, however. Rick had seen crows pick at walker guts for hours without so much as a wobble, nothing at all indicating them becoming sick. 

Back at the prison, watching the crows play with the dead was what passed as quality entertainment. The large black birds would often toy with the walkers that surrounded the prison fences, luring one or two away in what Rick considered exemplary teamwork. They swooped in when the walker stumbled and left itself open for a picking attack, or just left juicy bits of its guts on the ground.

It was morbidly fascinating. It also was the reason Rick and his family avoided birds in their menu as much as they could help it, even if the birds were making it easy for them by literally nesting on top of Rick’s roof. 

Right now they couldn’t be bothered to test the birds’ dubious meat. The Hilltop community came through and through, supplying them with enough fresh vegetables, fruits, even eggs, to overflow their stockpiles. Their current concern was how to preserve anything they couldn’t consume immediately, so it wouldn’t rot and go to waste.

If nothing else, seeing his people fed and taken care of strengthened Rick’s resolve, knowing that they’ve made the right call by taking care of the Saviors. The world didn’t need any more people who preyed on others, and if taking care of them meant Rick could feed his children, well, two birds, one stone, right? 

“I’m thinking omelets for breakfast,” Rick said, rolling to face the stirring Michonne. His fingers drew patterns on her naked shoulder. “With tomatoes,” he kissed her forehead, “and sweet peppers,” he kissed the tip of her nose, “the leftover beans from dinner…”

Michonne gave a little groan of pleasure. “Sweet talker.” 

They took advantage of the still silent baby monitor. After a shower, Rick was busy making true on his promises, humming to himself while the eggs cooked. Michonne was still upstairs getting ready. 

When she had to, Michonne could slum it up with the best of them. She would never complain about the gore, the dirt or the smells following unwashed human bodies. Sometimes, simply surviving - staying alive despite all other odds - that was enough, and asking for more than that had seemed downright ungrateful. 

But when she didn’t have to, when they had _hot water_ and toiletries and the time to spend on them - Michonne made sure she enjoyed them. Thoroughly and at length. 

Things like soap and toothpaste were finite, though. Like food today, sooner or later scavenging wouldn’t be enough. Hell, even the food they bargained out of the Hilltop community wouldn’t last forever. Rick and the people of Alexandria needed to start figuring out how to produce things on their own. The knowledge had to be out there somewhere - Rick made a mental note to start visiting libraries and bookstores on their next supply runs. 

Michonne drew him out of his musings when she came into the kitchen. As always, he was immediately charmed by the way she looked in her bathrobe and toweled hair. “Where’s Judith?” She asked. “And Carl?” 

“Still sleeping, I think.” Rick said. True, Judith keeping silent so late was unusual, but Rick wasn’t in any rush to wake a sleeping toddler. He gestured at the baby monitor. “Wasn’t this thing working fine last night?” 

Lately, Judith was the one who woke them in the morning. Not by crying, but by babbling to herself in the way toddlers liked to do. If Rick didn’t think she was too young for it, he would have thought she had an imaginary friend. Sometimes it looked like she was having an actual conversation with someone. 

“Judith isn’t in her crib,” Michonne said with a frown. “I knocked on Carl’s door, he’s not home either.”

“Where would Carl take Judy at this time of the day?” He turned off the stove, then stalked to the staircase. From there he could also see Carl’s shoes where he kicked them off by the front door yesterday. He called out, “Carl? Carl?” 

Receiving no answer but a “told you so”, from Michonne. He went outside to check to ask his neighbors. Joe used to be a tax attorney before he retired with his wife Anna to Florida. They had been visiting relatives in Washington DC when the dead started walking and stumbled on Alexandria by mistake. Joe routinely woke up at the break of dawn to walk his dog, then sit on his porch for hours in what he called “a time for reflection.” He kept at the habit even after the dog passed away. 

Rick found him on the porch as expected. “Hey Joe, have you seen Carl and Judith this morning?” 

“Morning Rick,” said Joe. “Haven’t seen them, sorry.” 

Rick raised his hand in thanks. He was getting irritated. Carl was a fantastic older brother. He cared for Judith deeply and he never complained about watching her, or changing her, or when she was acting fussy. He also knew that Rick wanted to know where she was, who was taking care of her. It was very out of character for him not to do so. Rick exchanged an uneasy look with Michonne. 

“Maybe he took her to Denise?” He wondered out loud. Was Judy feeling sick, with Carl taking her to the clinic to be looked at? Still without telling either Michonne or Rick? 

By noon, the entire community was searching, and Rick’s irritation turned into outright fear. His kids weren’t at the clinic, or at the storeroom, or the armory, or the church, or at any of the houses. No one had seen hair nor hide of Carl or Judith since yesterday. It wasn’t long before they realized Enid and Mikey, the two other teenagers living in Alexandria, were also missing. 

Maybe the kids went on a joyride outside the walls. Rick would have been furious, sure, but he also knew that Carl could take care of himself. Enid too for that matter, although he wasn’t too sure about Mikey. Teenagers messing around was - not expected, he expected better of his boy - but not entirely unheard of. Teenagers acting dumb was a reason to be angry, a reason to be fearful, yes, but there would have been an explanation at least. 

But _Judith_? Why take Judith? 

By nightfall, Rick’s (and Michonne’s, and Maggie’s, and Glenn’s and Mikey’s dad Kent’s) fear grew into abject terror. 

 

****

Carl woke up to a vague feeling that something was missing. 

Eyes blinking open, he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. There were little star pasties stuck to it, somehow still glowing despite the sun rays that filtered through the window. 

The room was large and in shades of blues and grays. It was cluttered, but not in an altogether messy way. There was a huge television directly in front of Carl’s bed. A blue shining light at the bottom corner told Carl that wherever this was, they seemed to have electricity. The TV was hooked to a gaming system, with stacks of video games arranged in neat little piles. 

The bedroom walls were decorated with a dart board as well as with posters of bands and celebrities Carl couldn’t name if he tried. There were shelves with sports trophies, and a bookcase overflowing with hardcovers and comic books. Face warming, Carl also noticed a box of kleenex tissues and a bottle of lotion on the nightstand. 

He reached under the pillow, not surprised to find an empty space instead of a knife. He spied a baseball bat that was perched on one of the shelves, next to a baseball glove, ball, and a trophy shaped like a giant golden cup. He went to pick it up, but the inscription on the trophy base gave him pause: 

_Carl Grimes  
Player of the Year Award_

Feeling more than a bit unsettled, Carl collected the baseball bat, feeling its weight and balance in his hands. He gave it a test swing and then, satisfied, tiptoed towards the door.

There was no one in the hallway beyond his bedroom. Carl was silent as he made his way down the hall, aided by the carpeting beneath his bare feet. The rest of the doors were closed. He stopped and pressed an ear to each one, advancing only when he was sure there was no movement behind the door. 

The hallway walls were not bare either. There were a few hung framed photographs of smiling babies. They looked a bit generic, almost like those stock photos that came with picture frames. A large mirror hung at the end of the hallway. 

As he moved closer to the flight of stairs at the end of the hallway, he realized he could hear someone moving around below, likely at the kitchen from the sound of clinking glasses and cabinets being opened and closed. And then there was a frankly wonderful smell of something sweet cooking…

He dropped the baseball bat. It hit the carpet with a dull thud. Carl stared at his reflection in the mirror. He pushed his messy hair back, stepping close enough that his breath fogged the glass. Suddenly he knew exactly what he woke up missing. 

Carl had known physical pain before, but nothing like the ache in his eye and in his head for the past few weeks. It had dulled some, true, and the pain medication was helping, but it was always there. Carl had felt it ever since the horde attack at Alexandria, when he woke up to his father clutching his left hand, and he’d had to turn his face to see him, because Carl’s right eye was just _gone_. 

That pain was missing now. He didn't need it when he was staring at his two - _two, he had both of them_ \- eyes. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there staring at his reflection. He would have thought nothing could draw his attention away from the fact his eye had somehow grown back, but he was wrong. 

“Carl, honey, are you up yet?” A voice suddenly called out to him. 

“...Mom?” he whispered. 

“Who else, silly?” Lori said. “Hurry up now, I’ve made waffles.” 

Tears falling freely, Carl abandoned his baseball bat to the hallway and made his way down the stairs. 

_This is a dream_. He thought. _Or I’m dead_. But before he could lay eyes on his _dead mother_ , Carl watched her leave through the front door.

“I’m just heading to the store,” she called over her shoulder, “Look after Judith and be sure to eat some fruit with your breakfast.” 

“Mom, wait,” Carl said, rushing after her. “Mom!” 

Somehow, in the two seconds it took for Carl to make it to the house’s front door, Lori had already buckled herself inside a shiny silver car and was pulling away from the curve. 

In his PJs and bare feet, Carl gave chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of zombie flesh being poisonous to scavenger animals is taken from World War Z by Max Brooks.


	2. The Kids Aren’t Alright

Claire’s radio spewed a bunch of static. She had her fingers on the dial, turning it right, left, right and right again.

It was another pleasant morning. She sat on a stool by the kitchen island, nursing a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Her parents busied themselves around her: her mother was squeezing more oranges, stopping every so often to empty the little plastic citrus juicer into a juice jar, and her father was frying bacon strips, quietly singing as he worked:

> _“In a cavern, In a canyon,_  
>  _excavating for a mine,_  
>  _dwelt a miner forty-niner,_  
>  _and his daughter Clementine.”_

Claire longed to turn around and look at them, but she settled for watching them in her peripheral vision. She fiddled with her radio.

The little portable device was their gift to her. Or at least, she assumed it was. She had asked for it, blinked, and there it was. She was very pleased about it, too. She was beginning to get tired of playing with the television static. You couldn’t walk around with a TV in your pockets for starters, and mobility was kind of a big deal.

She didn’t always get the things she asked for. She figured there were some limitations, but she was still trying to scope them out. Clothes she’d almost always get when she asked for them, even though she had to be very specific about it. Otherwise, she would have ended up with the entire Summer collection from The Gap. Weapons were out of the question, of course, but for some reason so was a hair dryer.

> _“Oh my darling, oh my darling,_  
>  _oh my darling Clementine.”_

Once, she had asked for a car, and a moment later she found keys in her pocket and a cherry red Corvette parked outside. Then she asked for a Harley-Davidson, and when she didn’t get anything, she specified that she wanted a motorcycle. When she still didn’t get anything, she went on a twenty-minute long tirade describing exactly the type of bike she wanted. The next morning she found a _bicycle_ in her bedroom, complete with a helmet, knee and elbow pads, as well as a yellow reflective headband.

She asked for a horse next. It was currently hanging out in the backyard. She called it Buttercup.

> _“You are lost and gone forever,_  
>  _dreadful sorry, Clementine.”_  

Claire felt a lump rise in her throat. She blinked rapidly to clear the mist in her eyes, feeling stupid.

“Will you just shut up?” she snapped and immediately Jimmy fell silent.

It was another pleasant morning. Through the kitchen window, Claire could see the too blue sky, the dazzling green of suburban lawns, the perfect white of picket fences, the gleaming red of the convertible she barely touched. People waved at her when they walked by, carrying colorful shopping bags or walking their dogs, their faces obscured behind large sunglasses or wide brimmed hats.

She was in a bit of a sour mood. Last night a few new houses materialized in the neighborhood. That happened from time to time, whenever new residents made it to _where-the-fuck-ever_ this place was. Claire wouldn’t have minded so much if it wasn’t also the equivalent of a great big reset button being pressed.

How was she supposed to find anything in a place that was constantly changing?

If nothing else, it was just creepy. It wasn’t as though there’d been empty lots before. One day the street sort of _shifted_ , and the next thing she knew, there was a whole new house between two previously adjacent ones. And it always happened at night.

Speak of the devil, one of the new kids was currently running around like a total psycho. He’d passed Claire’s house several times already. Claire wondered when he’d realize he was basically running in circles, passing the same picket white over and over. As if hearing her thoughts, he came to a stop beside the red convertible.

She considered his poor dejected face for a few moments, ignoring her radio. The radio gave a particularly high pitched _screech_ , rattling every window in the house. She turned it off with a huff.

“Hey, new guy,” she called out. “Newbie!”

He looked at her, and she gestured for him to come on in.

She grabbed a glass of orange juice for the boy because she’d been raised with _some_ manners. And also because, outside this crazy place was an even crazier world. Outside, hot food, clean water and a change of underwear were luxuries. Claire once watched a man beat another to death over a twinkie. _The banana flavored kind._ So when she could just… wish for something and get it, just like that? She could damn well spare some orange juice for her guest, make her parents proud.

Of course, both Jimmy and Amelia disappeared as soon as the boy came inside. Good manners were not taught at Pod People School, apparently.

The boy walked uncertainly into the kitchen. Up close, she could see that he was pale and skinny and taller than she was. His too long hair was windswept and a bit ridiculous. She handed him the juice and he looked surprised, although he drank it all in one gulp like… well, like anyone who ever had to fight for calories before, basically.

He also looked so rattled that, against her better judgment, she decided to take pity on him.

“I’m Claire.” She grabbed a notebook and jumped back to sit on the kitchen counter. What she was about to do was a bit risky. She only tried it once before. She was still alive and kicking, though, which must have meant it was all right.

Cas didn’t like it, but he could bite it.

“I’m Carl,” the boy said. “Um, I was trying to catch up with my mom. She said she was going to the store. Do… Do you know where that is around here, maybe?” He looked at her hopefully.

“Don’t bother,” Claire told him. “Listen, since you’re new around here-”

“Where’s _here_ , exactly?” he cut her off.

“Heaven,” Claire replied. He didn’t look very surprised so she asked, “Your mom’s dead, right? Aw jeez, don’t cry.”

“I’m not.” He glared at her through red-rimmed eyes but softened almost immediately. “I’m dead,” he stated. To his credit and to Claire’s everlasting relief, the tears never fell and his voice was steady.

“Well, if you’re in Heaven, you must be dead, right? Condolences,” she said cheerfully. “Do you want to know the ground rules?”

His eyebrows creased and he looked at her suspiciously, then nodded. He was evidently a little sharper than most of the kids who passed by her, so she gestured for him to come closer, and showed him what she wrote in her notebook:

 _1\. DON’T LOOK AT ANYONE WHO DOESN’T WANT TO BE LOOKED AT_  
_2\. TELL WHOEVER ASKS THAT YOU’RE HAPPY_

And underlined:

_3\. REMEMBER THIS ISN’T REAL_

Out loud she said, “one: eat a full breakfast. Two: don’t be an asshole to the other kids and three: don’t play music too loud at night, especially if it’s crap.” She looked at him pointedly. “Think you can remember all of that?”

He nodded again.

“Awesome.” She ripped the paper out and into itty bitty little pieces. “So, is it just you then?”

“Just me what?” He asked stiffly.

She rolled her eyes. “Did you show up here alone?”

Carl nodded. Then he froze in horror. And then he ran out the door.

“Well, you’re welcome!” Claire called after him, adding a muttered, “dick.” She jumped off the counter and went to sit in her stool. She turned the radio back on.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she muttered. “ _Language_.”


	3. Heaven Is a Place on Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stayed up way too late so I could publish this today. Sorry for more than the usual amount of errors.

_...was an old friend of Bobby. Ha, I say “friend”. Nice lady, don’t find many decent people left lately…  _

 

A human would have collapsed from exhaustion a long time ago. It had been… many days, since Castiel was first brought to what he thought of as his prison. His legs should have given in, standing for so long, and his neck should have been at least horribly cramped, held taut as it was by the collar. And yet, Castiel had never felt more removed from his vessel, despite the fact that he was still technically inhabiting it.  

 

It was an odd feeling, to feel so powerful, so saturated with heavenly power, and yet so helpless at the same time. 

 

Heaven’s light was flowing through him, nourishing his grace. His wings were spread out for maximum efficiency, the sigil-etched chains making sure their form remained true. The Enochian, Aramaic and seventh-century Nahuatl scripts on his prison’s walls amplified his grace’s ability to recharge. 

 

It was unnatural. An abomination of an Angel’s natural condition. He was burning out. 

 

To make things worse, the amount of energy coursing through him made it ever so difficult to concentrate. He was in his prison. He was with Claire. He was trying to listen to his visitor, who was currently - and very cheerfully - strengthening the painted sigils on the walls. He was trying to listen to prayers. 

 

Oh, how he tried. 

 

_...thought he was gonna cry. They were even growing radishes out there, I mean, end of the world, and you’re making friggin’ radishes?... _

 

“Does this looks right to you?” 

 

Castiel opened his eyes. The man, his daily visitor, was contemplating the piece of the wall he had just repainted. He placed his brush behind one ear, completely missing the fact that the red paint was dripping onto his shirt. He was an uninspiring figure in Castiel’s eyes. Dressed in clothes that, Cas learned, were considered quite unfashionable for the current culture and region.

 

“I think,” Castiel said, concentrating great efforts on activating his vessel’s vocal cords, “that you misspelled  _ Qephetzial _ .” He took an unnecessary deep breath to help himself focus. “You should… try  _ Kaf  _ instead of  _ Kuf _ .”

 

The funny little man looked like he was considering the alteration for a moment, but then thought better of it. He put his hands on his hips, leaned to the left and said, in frank amusement, “Oh you.”

 

Pulling a small notepad from his pocket, he flipped through the pages before he found the right one. “Aha!” He said, retrieving his paintbrush from behind his ear. He spared Castiel another amused look. “You almost got me.” 

 

Castiel would’ve sighed if he could spare the attention. 

 

_...they don’t know anything.... got something decent to eat for once. I say she was a nice lady, yeah?...  _

 

_...out now, Cas, I really am….you’re getting this…  _

 

_...find you, I promise…  _

 

_...where are you, man?...  _

  
  


***

 

Carl had no idea which house was supposed to be his. 

 

He was so focused on chasing after Lori, that he didn’t realize he was leaving Judith. His mom said to watch after his little sister. It was literally her  _ dying request _ . The first thing she asked him again. And he let her down. 

 

Where the hell (where the heaven?) did he wake up? 

 

All the houses looked the same. A few small variations: a potted plant or two, a vine growing along an outer wall, a different type of mailbox. Nothing that called out to him as familiar. Also: was there really mail in heaven? Were they getting, like, bills?  _ Was there a postman?  _

 

Carl was  _ not  _ panicking. He was, very possibly, dreaming. Or high. Was he high? 

 

He kept passing by the same houses too, about a dozen of them in all. It was very odd - to his perception, the street was as straight as it could go, but Carl still seemed to be wandering around in circles. 

 

He considered asking for help - there were a few people up and about. Only, he remembered Claire’s advice: don’t look at people who didn’t want to be looked at. Fortunately for him, a young girl came onto his path all by herself. 

 

“Are you  _ lost _ ?” she asked, incredulously. She was about eight years old, with red bushy hair and face full of freckles. And she didn’t seem to have a problem meeting Carl’s eyes. 

 

“I don’t know where I live,” he admitted. “Can you help me?” She looked like she was considering it, so he added, “please?” 

 

She sighed like she was doing him a great big favor. “Well, the one you just left is Claire’s.” She pointed. “The one with the green door is mine - I’m Susan.  _ Not  _ Susie.” She glared until he mumbled an “okay”. 

 

“All the houses on the left side have been here before, so they can’t be yours,” she said. “And on this side there are three new ones. Also,” she looked at him pityingly, “there are names on all of the doors.” 

 

“Oh,” Carl said, sheepishly. “Thanks.” 

 

He found his own house quickly enough after that. It was the house with the different mailbox after all. Susan-not-Susie tagged along, apparently having decided he was worth following around. The front door was wide open, and he could hear the TV was on in the living room. 

 

“Mom?” he called. “Are you home?” He paused at the living room entrance. “Dad?” 

 

Rick was sitting in an armchair in front of the TV in an angle to the door, his hand on the armrest and his profile in view. 

 

“Dad?” Carl said again, surprised. “You’re here too?” Carl was about to walk into the livingroom, to face his dad, but Susan stopped him by grabbing onto his T-shirt. She mouthed  _ don’t _ . 

 

“I’m always here, Carl,” Rick said, way more serenely than Carl had ever heard known him to be. “How is your day going?” A pause. “Are you happy?” 

 

Unnerved, Carl took a step back. “It’s okay.” A kick from Susan. “Yeah, I’m happy. Like, super happy. Is Judith here?” Oh God, was Judith going to be all weird too? 

 

“You should check on her,” Rick said. “She misses you.” His finger flickered the remote, the TV changing to some nature documentary. 

 

Carl didn’t need to be told twice. He found Judith’s room: it was a very pink, and just about overflowing with stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes. No Judith, though. No Judith, no Mom. And… no Dad. Or maybe Carl wasn’t the only one who was high. 

 

“Hey, is that her?” Susan said, pointing to the window. She squinted. “She’s just a baby.” 

 

Peering through the window, Carl saw that Susan was right. Judith was in the backyard, sitting on a little blue blanket. And she wasn’t alone. There was a strange man sitting next to her, holding out a little plastic toy for her to take. 

 

Carl grabbed the discarded baseball bat from the hallway. 

 

“Who are you?” Carl demanded as he burst into the yard. 

 

The man jumped to his feet. He was a white guy who looked to be in his 40s. He had a very straightforward look: clean shaven, his dark hair beginning to thin, combed and parted to the side. He was dressed in khakis, white sneakers and a green polo shirt. In any other circumstances, Carl would have thought he looked completely harmless. 

 

“I said, who the hell are you?” Carl repeated, trying to look as menacing as he could look in pajama pants. 

 

“Brian! I’m Brian,” the man squeaked, taking a step back. “Um, so, bro, how’s it hangin’?”  He raised his hand, holding it out for a … fist bump? 

 

“...What?” 

 

The man cringed. “Sorry. It’s just that you’re a bit outside my normal age range.” He looked at Judith fondly. 

 

“Back off, asshole!” Carl snarled, and raised his baseball bat.

 

Judith, startled by the aggression, started to cry. That sort of behavior at least was normal, thank God. The guy, Brian, had at least a good enough sense to back up a few more steps, enough to allow Carl to feel safe enough to let go of his bat and pick up his crying sister. It was an awkward few minutes, with Carl simultaneously rocking and shushing Judith, all the while glaring daggers at the stranger. 

 

“Hi Susan,” the guy said, breaking the silence. He was cowering by the edge of the yard. Susan, who was watching everything with great interest, simply rolled her eyes at him. 

 

“Brian, he’s not going to  _ eat you _ .” She turned to Carl. “Brian is afraid of big kids, I don’t know why. He’s the one who brought us all here. Is that your sister? What kind of name is Judith for a baby, anyway?” She stepped up to them, peering curiously. “She’s so little. How come the biters haven’t eaten her?” 

 

“Susan!” Brian admonished. “You know we don’t talk about  _ them  _ here.” 

 

“Wait,  _ you  _ brought us here?” Carl questioned. Brian nodded. “…Is this really Heaven?” 

 

“Yeah! Totally.” Brian squeaked. He then cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“So you’re like, what, an angel?” Carl asked. Judith was still crying, throwing her entire weight backwards in a tantrum. She was getting big: Carl was struggling to keep a hold on her.

 

“...Yes. Absolutely.” Brian was nodding his head enthusiastically. “I’m an angel.” 

 

“...Huh.” 

 

Brian added, “I was just checking to see how you and Judith were settling in. How do you like everything so far? Does your room look okay?” 

 

_ Tell anyone who asks that you’re happy _ , Claire had said. So Carl nodded. “Yeah... Everything’s cool.” 

 

“Awesome!” Brian beamed. “I’ll be going, then, still need to check in on Mikey, y’know. I’ll be around. Don’t worry, you won’t see me. Susan, Judith, you two have a  _ wonderful  _ day.” He gave them a funny little salute, and then winked. “And you too, Carl!” He gave him a thumbs-up and then just - disappeared. 

 

“I’m definitely high,” Carl said after a moment, nodding to himself. “Michonne is going to kill me.” 

  
  
  
  



	4. Don’t Fear The Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I’m posting this in a hurry. I apologize for any mistakes made, etc etc. I have to catch a flight for a business trip in a few hours (so grown up) so I expect the next update will be next weekend. To make up for it, I hope you enjoy this slightly longer chapter. 
> 
> A quick note about warnings. I’ve decided to avoid content warnings as to not spoil the plot. The story will only get as dark as the source material, which is... plenty dark on its own. I am aiming for a mix of heartwarming and soul crushing, just saying. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to drop me a comment.

Days came and went, and there was no sign of any of the kids.

 

There were a few in Alexandria who were of the opinion that Carl, Enid and Mikey ran away on their own. Maybe to join a different group, somewhere, and taking Judith with them as a safeguard to ensure their acceptance, wherever that was. The only person stupid enough to air that particular theory out loud ended up knocked to the ground, and was only spared a worse fate by someone else stepping up to stop Glenn, of all people, from hitting the mouthy idiot in the face.

 

A far more common theory was quickly settling in most people’s minds: the Saviors did it.

 

There were not many people left to defend Alexandria with Rick spending more time outside the walls than in. That was _stupid_ , he knew that, but… Rick had always been a man of action first and foremost, and pending attack be damned, he could not sit idle while the kids were out there somewhere, possibly held by people who had a very real grudge against them. Rick’s instinct was to go out there and look for his children.

 

He was constantly being reminded of that desperate search for Sophia, only a few years past, though it seemed like a lifetime ago. That similarity was the reason Carol had left them, or so Rick assumed. She didn’t actually stick around long enough to explain herself. Regardless of her reasons, Carol was one of their more capable fighters, and with Morgan chasing after her, they were quickly running low on fighting power.

 

Rick was trying his damndest not to resent Carol for leaving them _now_ . He wasn’t having much success at it. They had spent _weeks_ searching for Sophia. _Rick_ had spent weeks searching for Sophia. Mapping search paths and combing acres of woods for traces of the lost little girl. After all they’ve been through, it _hurt_ that Carol wouldn’t do the same for Carl and Judith.

 

It wasn’t just Carol who went away. Michonne was there, but she was… closed off to him. Rick always displayed his emotional distress openly. Michonne hid hers under a dozen layers. Rick couldn’t begin to guess what was happening inside her head, and he was not able to stop her from leaving Alexandria on her own again and again, but he knew she was out there tearing the world apart looking for his - their - children.

 

They sent out more search parties. Not everyone came back. As they suspected, the Saviors were far from eliminated, and when they encountered them again, they had lost Denise in the exchange. Rick had been leading his own search party at the time and wasn’t there to stop Daryl from going after the Saviors on his own, nor to stop Glenn from chasing after him.

 

Alexandria was as close to defenseless as it ever was. They were spread pretty thin. Rick didn’t know why the Saviors were not attacking yet - it was the perfect opportunity. To top it off, Maggie was sick. Exhaustion, stress, whatever it was, she was looking like death and Rick couldn’t - wouldn’t - lose another member of his family. They took the RV and made a beeline for the Hilltop to get her medical care.

 

Of course, it was then when the Saviors finally showed up. By nightfall, the Saviors managed to lure them into an ambush. Not only did the Saviors manage to outmaneuver them, they also managed to capture Rick’s missing friends. The Saviors’ leader - older guy, foul-mouthed, barbed baseball bat - loved hearing himself talk. On his knees with his family, with _Michonne_ , vulnerable next to him, surrounded by more thugs than they could possibly take down on their own, Rick had no choice but to stay there and listen.

 

“I don’t wanna kill you people, I want to make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. And you can't do that if you're fucking dead, now, can you?” Negan went on and on. “I'm not growing a garden.”

 

The only sound beside Negan’s never-ending monologue was Rick’s blood pumping in his veins and his people’s frightened breaths. The Saviors were absolutely revering Negan in their attention, not one of them fidgeting or murmuring in the background. Past the indignation, past the horror, that quiet worship was what fried Rick’s last aching nerve.

 

“Did you take my kids?” He rasped. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping for a _yes_ or a _no_.

 

“See, the boys mentioned you might ask that,” Negan said thoughtfully. “I gotta tell you, Rick, I feel for you. I do. But you killed my people, a whole fucking damn shit lot of them.” He raised his eyebrows. “You shanked them in their sleep.” Adding, “you know they all crapped their beds, right? Blood and shit everywhere, and I do mean _everywhere_.”

 

He continued. “I’ve seen some fucked up shit in my day, but that, my friend, takes the absolute-fucking-cake.” He paused, and snickered. “And I sure as _shit_ know my _shit_ from _shit_ . _I’ve been to Vietnam.”_

 

Pointing the bat at Rick’s face, he added in a voice that dropped to an intimate level. “So let me tell you, when you say that shit to me, after everything that you did?” He tsked. “That hurts my feelings.” Negan shook his head. “Sorry Rick, I didn’t take your damn kids. But I’ll tell you what - we’ll be sure to keep an eye out for you.”

 

And the worst part was, Rick thought, the crazy son of a bitch actually looked sincere.

 

“But you still gotta fucking pay. So now? Now I am going to beat the holy fuck fucking fuckety fuck out of one of you.” Negan twirled his baseball bat.

 

What followed was one of the worst nights of Rick’s life.

 

***

 

Days came and went, and Carl kept catching glimpses of his parents.

 

Claire was only half right. It wasn’t about actively looking at anyone, it was just that he _couldn’t_. His parents were around, tending to the lawn, or making dinner, or watching TV… but always half hidden, their backs either turned, or standing just out of Carl’s direct line of sight. They would get close if he ignored them - once, while eating cereal, his mom ruffled his hair - but if he tried to look at them, they’d back away, and if he tried to corner them, they’d simply vanish.

 

And it wasn’t just his parents. With the exception of Brian, all the adults seemed to belong to the scenery. The people he passed in the street, the ice-cream vendor who went by twice a day, the other parents… they were all like his mom and dad. Background people. And… they felt wrong.

 

The only people who seemed to be real were the other kids. There weren’t many, though Carl had the impression that there used to be a lot more of them. There were a few other younger kids besides Susan (although she hated to be lumped with them), and a few other teenagers as well.

 

Mikey, who Carl knew from Alexandria, rarely left his “house”. Claire took to calling him a Stockholm, whatever that was. There were the twin brothers Jake and Scott, who were downright mean to one another, but were never found apart. And of course, Claire, who had been around the longest. At “eighteen the last time I bothered to count,” she was the also oldest of them.

 

Also, there was Enid. Carl actually found her on their first day there. He was still in the backyard with Susan and Judith, and he happened to look up. Enid was sitting high up on a tree, straddling a branch with her back to the trunk.

 

“Hey Carl.” Enid had said when he called out to her. There was something odd about her voice. “I just saw my parents.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Carl replied.

 

“Everyone’s moms and dads are here,” Susan informed them matter-of-factly. “Even the dead ones.” She was crouched next to Judith on the little blanket where Carl had put her. The red headed girl seemed to find Judith fascinating, as if she had never actually seen a toddler up close before.

 

“My dad is alive,” Carl said. “I mean, he was, last time I saw him. And I don’t remember dying. I just remember going to sleep.”

 

“ _Nobody_ remembers dying,” Susan said. She looked at him conspiratorially. “ _Nobody_. Get it?”

 

Susan, Carl learned, had been there the longest after Claire. She was traveling with a ragtag group of survivors before she woke up in Heaven, together with two other children from her group. They weren’t around anymore.  


“They weren’t happy,” she said, with a pointed look. “So Brian took them back.”

 

Carl wasn’t sure what he felt about Brian, that funny little guy who claimed he was an Angel. He visited often, and even when he wasn’t around, Carl had the strange sense that somebody was watching them. The guy seemed harmless, actually looking more afraid of Carl than anyone who could _teleport_ really ought to be. He also seemed very interested in Carl and Judith’s well being, asking them multiple times if they were happy about where they were. Stressing that _Heaven_ wasn’t a prison, and that if any of them _really_ wanted to go back, he would make it so.

 

He seemed earnest, but Carl’s instincts told him to be careful. Both Claire and Susan obviously thought that _going back_ wasn’t a good thing, and not just because of the walkers. So Carl played along, too.

 

“I don’t really understand anything,” he told Susan, who had taken up to following him and Judith around constantly. The girl had shrugged and resumed her attempts at teaching Judith to fetch. Carl gave up trying to explain to her that Judith wasn’t a dog. Actually, he was starting to think the girl was just messing with him. It was nice having someone to talk to, anyway.

 

Enid shook herself out of the dreamlike state eventually, and took to following Claire around during the day. What they were doing, Carl wasn’t sure, but it mostly involved sitting around listening to the radio. Or, more accurately, listening to the radio _static_. Except for their initial written communication, Claire hadn’t bothered (or hadn’t wanted to risk?) explaining anything else to him. And she only laughed like a lunatic when Carl pointedly handed her the Etch A Sketch he found in Judith’s room.

 

With nothing else to do, Carl - with Judith in a little stroller, because he wasn’t letting her out of his sight - spent his days exploring. Susan showed him that if he followed a path between the houses, he would end up in a park that was strangely not visible from the main street. There was a little dirt road that made a great path for Judith’s stroller. The park was huge, and despite the constant sinking in his stomach that yelled out _wrong wrong wrong,_ Carl had fallen in love with it.

 

It was a mix of wild and orderly. Impossibly tall trees of all kinds created a canopy above their heads, their leaves varying shades of greens and reds, as if they couldn’t decide if it was Autumn or Spring. Entangled in their branches were Christmas lights of every color, so that even after dark, the park was always warmly lit. There was a small lake with black and white swans that didn’t take offense to anyone who swam up to them, and an enormous playground that the younger kids enjoyed (except for Susan who turned her nose at such things). Some of the older kids too… only, so they said, ironically.

 

Carl was sitting on a swing, with Judith in his lap, when the ground started to shake. Susan was on the swing next to his, pretending to be indifferent to it, except for the way she kept kicking her legs to swing higher. She was also glaring at a young boy, Oliver, who kept coming up with reasons to talk to her.

 

“I think he likes you,” Carl teased, and she turned her glare to him. She opened her mouth to reply, but her glare turned confused when the tremors started - slow at first, but gradually increasing. Both she and Carl were on their feet a moment later.

 

“Hey, all of you, get down,” Carl called out to the other children. He wasn’t actually sure what he was supposed to do during an earthquake when it took place while he was outside, but he assumed swinging on monkey bars wasn’t it. And technically, it wasn’t an earthquake, was it? A Heaven-quake just sounded weird. Like a fancy dessert name.

 

With Judith in his arms, he herded the kids toward the main path. Besides himself, Susan and his sister, there were three younger kids. Oliver, who looked a couple of years younger than Susan, had brown curly hair and the biggest green eyes Carl had ever seen. There was also Annabelle, who very shyly told Carl she was nine and originally from Texas, and another little girl around that same age who was called Daliah and spoke very little English.

 

They didn’t scream or cry - kids who grew up with walkers in the neighborhood learned quickly not to do that, or they wouldn’t grow at all - but Carl could read the alarm on their faces.

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he told them. The Christmas lights made an almost musical sound as they clinked together overhead. “It’ll be over soon.”

 

The ground continued to rumble in increasingly powerful waves. They stumbled down the path, struggling to remain upright and losing their footing once or twice. Carl was helping Daliah climb up to her feet, more shaken than bruised, when he himself lost his ground and barely managed to avoid squashing Judith between himself and the path.

 

“Okay, guys, stop,” he called out. “Let’s just wait this one out.” They huddled together in the shade of a sturdy looking oak. Judith was whimpering, although Carl barely heard her over the ringing in his ears. The rumbling seemed to be accompanied by an increasingly loud sound he couldn’t describe if he tried.

 

There was electricity in the air, and it seemed to be increasing. With a sudden sense of foreboding, Carl shouted, “get down!” and covered as many of kids as he could with his own body. The lights _exploded_ , raining glass all around them. They were suddenly in complete darkness. A voice he recognized as Susan’s cried out in alarm, and he felt her clutching his arm.

 

“It’s okay,” he said. “It was just the lights. Everyone all right?”

 

There was a murmuring of voices. Judith was frightened and crying, her face buried in his shirt. Besides that, everything was silent. The ringing had stopped. The ground was still.

 

“Why is it so dark?” Annabelle whispered.

 

She was right, Carl noticed, startled. It shouldn’t be this dark, even with the lights out. It was still _daylight_ a few moments ago, although dusk was approaching. Looking up, he couldn’t even see the stars beyond the trees.

 

“I don’t know,” Carl said honestly. “Okay, can… can you all grab each other’s hands? We’ll walk together. Susan, hold onto my shirt.”

 

They all stood up shakily, and with Carl leading the way, tried to make their way out of the woods. He felt Susan trembling as she all but walked pressed against Carl’s side. _She’s afraid of the dark_ , he thought, and with the arm not holding onto Judith, patted her shoulder in what he hoped was an assuring way.  

 

“What’s going on?” He asked her, quietly so that the other children wouldn’t hear. “Has this ever happened before?” He felt rather than heard her shake her head.

 

After what felt like a lifetime of stumbling around in the dark, Carl noticed a light up ahead. “Hey!” he called out. “Over here!” It was Claire, along with Enid, Mikey, and the twins Jake and Scott. Claire was holding a flashlight, its light seemed unnaturally bright and pure after so long in the dark.

 

“What are you guys doing?” Carl asked when the other teens approached. Claire’s flashlight really was incredibly bright, not simply beaming in a column like Carl would’ve expected, but brightening the entire area they were standing in, as if they were hanging out inside a bubble of light.

 

“Hiking, asshat, what does it look like?” Jake said. Raising an eyebrow at the younger kids, he told Carl, “nice of you to bring backup.” Jake and his brother were both dark skinned and dark haired, but that was where the similarity ended. They weren’t identical. Jake was tall and broad, handsome in an obvious sort of way. Scott was almost a head shorter than his brother, and seemed frail in comparison.

 

“Shut up, Jake,” Claire said, with resigned familiarity. To Carl and the kids, she added, “are you guys okay?” Oliver, Annabelle and Daliah rushed forward to glomp her in a hug. Susan stayed by Carl’s side, still clutching his shirt. In the newfound light, Carl was dismayed to see Susan looking so shaken.

 

Enid, Carl noticed, was holding Claire’s little radio. She sent Carl a fleeting smile.

 

“Sorry about all of this,” Claire told them after a few moments spent hugging the younger kids. She patted Oliver’s curly hair. “This was the only way we could talk without anyone listening in. I...um, wasn’t exactly sure when it would happen,” she said and glared at the radio.

 

“Claire’s hearing voices,” Jake informed them, and Carl didn’t need to look at him to know he was smirking. “She’s been trying to find a way out of this place.”

 

“Why would we want to leave?” Mikey asked. “This is _Heaven_.”

 

Scott said softly, “you haven’t been here long. Sometimes kids disappear, the younger ones, or… the troublemakers, I guess. Brian says he’s taken them home, but…” he bit his lips, clearly conflicted.

 

“What is he?” Carl asked. “Brian. I can’t wrap my head around him.”

 

“I’m not absolutely sure,” Claire admitted. “My friend Castiel - the one I’ve been talking to - he says that Brian’s something called a… Zanna? They’re like, kids’ imaginary friends. Only they’re not supposed to be strong enough to go against Cas, or to do any of this, really. And he says they never hurt kids before.”

 

“Imaginary friend?” Jake asked, after a moment of stunned silence. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“Well, he’s not an Angel.” Claire argued.

 

“I know him,” Scott, Jake’s twin, blurted out. “I mean, I didn’t realize it before, but when I was really young I had an imaginary friend called Brian. He was… like my dad, back then.” He didn’t meet anybody’s eyes when he said, “our real dad was… um, he wasn’t a good man.”

 

“Dad was a handsy son of a bitch,” Jake agreed, darkly cheerful.

 

Scott shrinked, and mumbling, he added, “this can’t be Heaven if our dad’s here with us. It can’t be.”

 

“You can’t trust Brian,” Claire said, kindly. “Scott, you know that, right?”

 

Without meeting her eyes, Scott nodded.

 

“So what,” Jake said, “we’re supposed to trust you instead? Because a voice on the radio tells you stuff? A voice that, by the way, only you can hear?” He snorted. “In case the newbies didn’t realize.”

 

“I can hear him too,” Enid said calmly. “And I know this isn’t Heaven.”

 

“Because you’re the expert now?” Mikey said, looking bewildered and even more out of his element than he normally did.  

 

“When my parents were alive, I could never ever get them to shut up,” Enid started, looking uncomfortable but determined. “My mom would go around asking stupid stuff like... like, how I’m feeling, how’s my day going. She’d say, ‘it’s okay to be sad, Enid’. _I hated it_. Like, Mom, all my friends are dead and monsters are trying to eat me. How do you think I feel? But she never stopped.”

 

She continued, “and… and my dad always tried to cheer me up with these _stupid_ knock knock jokes. Who even tells knock knock jokes anymore?” She paused for breath, and said, in a soft voice. “They’re here, but they feel wrong. They don’t actually talk to me. They ask me if I’m happy but they don’t actually care. It’s not really them, they’re more like… echos, I guess.”

 

“I know the rest of you feel that too,” Claire said after a moment of silence. “You feel it. Something is wrong with this place.”

 

“Even if we believe you-” Jake started.

 

“Of course you believe her,” his brother interrupted. “You _hate_ it here.”

 

“Even if,” Jake insisted. “This whole place just goes on and on in circles. How the hell are we supposed to get out?”

 

“We could kill Brian,” Oliver, the six year old, suddenly piped in. The rest of them stared at him uncomfortably, although, Carl would bet, they were all thinking the same thing. Theirs was just that sort of world. Claire gave Oliver another pat on the head.

 

“We might get stuck here, little guy,” she said, looking like she wanted to laugh. To everyone, she said, “Cas says we need to look for something that’s out of place. That sort of thing would be like an exit.” She bit her lips. “Or, wish for something that’s out of place? Wish for the door? Sometimes he gets… confused. It’s hard to make sense of.”

 

The little radio in Enid’s hands was coming back to life, the little red light blinking into existence. Then it _screeched_ , loudly enough to make them cover their ears.

 

“Damn it, they’re coming back.” Claire sighed when the silence returned. She turned her flashlight off. “Remember what I said. _Anything that’s out of place._ ”

  
And suddenly, Carl could see stars again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it sort of funny how American television can graphically show a man being beaten to death or ripped to shreds, but painstakingly censor the word “fuck”. I obviously went with the uncensored Negan version, because that was just too delightful to leave out (I needed to listen to the clip on YouTube a few times to make sure I was transcribing every “fuck” right). 
> 
> What do you guys think of the original characters? And the direction this story is going? I would love to hear your thoughts. Anyway, hope you enjoy, and see you again in a week! XOXO


	5. Land of Gods and Monsters

 

A knocking drew Castiel’s fractured attention back to his vessel.  

 

He opened his eyes with effort. The prison was a darkened chamber that seemed to sway unsteadily, making the chains ring. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. Unusually, it was lit, although its effect was lost among the heavenly glow that Castiel was unwillingly emitting. He could see that the heavy, rusted iron gate was open. The man standing just outside the door was knocking on it, quite tentatively. 

 

He wore plain clothes and had an unimpressive physique. If it wasn’t for his grotesque face… no, a mask, Castiel realized. It was a welding mask. Castiel had seen men wearing those in the past, to protect their eyes and faces from flash burn and hazardous sparks. However, he had never seen anyone use such a device to protect themselves from heavenly power. 

 

“Hello Brian,” Castiel finally spoke. For it could only be the Zanna. 

 

“Hi there.” Brian waved from the threshold, voice slightly muffled. He seemed reluctant to enter the chamber. His covered face bobbed a little as he scanned Castiel’s form, from chained wrists to chained wings. “Are you in any pain?” he asked in a soft voice. 

 

“Why… are you here?” Castiel said with great effort. 

 

“Um, I thought you wanted to know how the kids are doing. Okay, that is, they’re doing okay. They’re happy,” Brian said. “I just thought you wanted to know.” He fiddled nervously with his helmet. “I’m sorry we had to put you through this, I didn’t realize it was this bad.” There was a heavy sigh behind the mask. “But we’re doing the right thing, you’ve got to know that, right? The kids always come first. I know your people didn’t want to help, and that’s not your fault. You’re  _ Castiel _ , everybody knows you care about humanity. So you of all people have to understand, you have to.” 

 

“You… don’t know.” Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, focusing all of his attention on his vessel’s ability to speak, knowing he had to be clear, to bring the message across. “You don’t know you’re hurting them-” 

 

“What? No!” Brian exclaimed, scandalized. “No, never. We’re Zanna. We don’t hurt kids, not ever.” He stepped into the chamber finally, all nervousness gone. Finger poised as if to poke Castiel in the chest, he said, “I’m doing  _ my job _ . Do you know how many times I had to watch my charges…” Brian gave a shuddering breath. “Until this whole  _ situation  _ with the undead is resolved, and the world gets better, I’m going to make sure my kids get to  _ be  _ kids.” 

 

“They don’t want to… stay.” Castiel pushed the words out. “The others...where... do they... go?”

 

“Um, back. Of course?” The Zanna sounded baffled. “Or anywhere else they want to go. I’m always hoping more will want to stay, we try so hard to give them a good home… But we take them back if they don’t want to stay, of course we do.” 

 

“We? Not… you?” 

 

“We all have our little functions,” a new voice suddenly exclaimed, causing Brian to jump, startled. 

 

“Y’know how it is with management, nobody tells you anything, really.” The newcomer rolled his eyes. It was Castiel’s normal visitor, a portly little man who today was dressed in a garish combination of gold, red and green. He was carrying giant garden shears in one hand, the sight of which caused Castiel’s feathers to shrink close together. “Brian you silly goose, what are you doing back here?”

 

“Tal.” Brian looked as guilty as a huge blank mask could look. “I was just explaining the situation to Castiel-” 

 

“Pfff, you’d be better off explaining table manners to werewolves,” the short man said, waving his hand dismissively. He walked into the chamber and grasped Brian’s shoulder, bodily steering him away. “Come on now, you’ve got work to do. What were you saying about that little one from that group in Atlantic City? No need to bother old Castiel, can’t you tell he’s busy?” He pushed Brian out the exit, waving him away merrily. The iron gate closed with a heavy clang. 

 

Tal’s smile remained as he turned his attention back to Castiel, but there was something strained in it. His breath was fogging, despite the comfortable temperature in the room. For the first time Castiel sensed an aura of anger in him. Not a Zanna, Castiel thought to himself. Not with that air of malice hiding under the cheerful mask. 

 

The chubby, friendly visage wavered, and suddenly Castiel was confronted with an older face: naked skin pale-blue and bloated, like a corpse that was left in the water and forgotten, eyes bulging and mouth full of razor sharp teeth. The vision snapped back, giving way to a silly little man in suspenders and colorful clothes.  

 

“Tlaloc,” Castiel sighed, dismayed, for he suddenly knew exactly what had happened to those missing children. The Aztec gods were always fond of human sacrifices. Tlaloc, more than his brothers and sisters combined, preferred the young. 

 

“Aw, shoot,” Tlaloc said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s always harder to hide when I’m cranky.” He pointed the shears at Castiel. “Which is your fault, by the way, I can’t believe you turned the whole thing off and on again. Now the Zanna’s going through a nervous breakdown. He’s already started asking too many questions. Still, we’re having fun while it lasts.” 

 

Tlaloc stepped closer. “I’m not a bad guy, you know? I like to help people.” 

 

“You...eat... children,” Castiel said roughly.

 

“Not all the time!” Tlaloc protested. “We all have to eat. I mean, not you.” He patted Castiel’s wing. “But most of us.” He grumbled, “you angels have it easy. You come in ready-made neat little packages. But my kind? Humans created me. They decided what to feed me, and they decided to forget me. And let me tell you, starving to death is  _ not cool. _ ”

 

“Your kind died… out.” 

 

The Aztec god nodded. “True. I was dead-slash-asleep for a long time. Imagine my surprise when I woke up to all of this.” He gestured vaguely. “A couple of humans were hiding out in a museum, someplace with lots and lots of artifacts from the good old days. A fight broke out - naturally - and someone managed to bloody one of my statuses, enough to wake me up.” He chuckled. “Boy, they were not expecting that.” 

 

Tlaloc sighed sadly. “I got by, after that, but I was always so very hungry. Humans just don’t want what I can give them these days. Rain? Fertility? Not really in high demand in today’s market. And the few souls they are willing to part with? Eww, the things are so heavy with corruption, I might as well starve.” 

 

He perked up and added. “But then you showed up! I was just about to eat that yellow girl. She drew you in, remember? Man,” he exclaimed. “Your kind’s just bursting with power. I could’ve stored hundreds and hundreds of sacrifices in you, back in the old days. Nowadays the pickings are slim. The Zanna’s been helping with that. Though lately he’s been bringing more and more strays along. Yuck. Still, I’ll be sorry to get rid of him.”

 

Castiel closed his eyes. The old god was using Brian to bring him children, whose souls were young enough to be unburdened and without much corruption. Castiel sensed that many of the children taken did not fit that description anymore. A few had taken lives already, in self-defense or otherwise. Yet the act of bringing them to the god, even unknowingly, must be enough to measure them as sacrifices. 

 

“I’m probably boring you. You know how it is, as the years go by, you get wistful.” Tlaloc stepped behind Castiel, running his fingers along the displayed feathers. Castiel’s wings, the only exposed part of him that was truly him, shivered. 

  
“I’m sorry I have to do this,” Tlaloc told him. “Honestly, I am. But I can’t have you flying after me if you ever get loose. It’s just a precaution, you see?” The shears made an ominous sound as they opened. “Also, your little stunt with the lights got me thinking: I’m pretty sure I can keep you running just fine without the extra juice. Thanks, by the way.” Castiel felt him position the shears over one of the long flight feathers. “Tell me if this hurts, will you?” 


	6. Those Meddling Kids

Enid couldn’t sleep in her own house. She tried in those first few nights, tossing and turning in her bed. It was stupid, she thought, how she didn’t feel safe enough to sleep in a big house, behind a door she could lock, with a full belly and no walkers in sight. She couldn’t help herself; she needed to get out of that house, to get away from the ghosts. 

 

She spent a few nights sleeping in Carl’s bedroom, on the floor beside the crib Carl dragged in from Judith’s room. She was obviously not the only one who didn’t feel safe in their new house. If Carl ever noticed her there he didn’t mention it, but more than once Enid woke up to find herself covered in a blanket she didn’t remember going to sleep with. Still, she always left before Carl woke up properly.

 

During the days, Enid searched for a road that wouldn’t lead her in circles. That was how she got to know Claire… and Castiel. Claire’s head was down since she was looking at her radio. She bumped straight into Enid. Despite the fact that they had literally knocked their heads together, the impact didn’t hurt. The radio flew out of Claire’s hands.

 

Enid went to pick it up when she heard, among the static, “ _ Claire, are you alright _ ?” 

 

“She’s fine,” Enid answered on Claire’s behalf, and tried to hand the radio back. The other girl looked surprised. 

 

“ _ Oh, hello Enid. I didn’t realize you could hear me as well, _ ” The voice said. When Enid thought about it later, she realized she couldn’t really tell if the voice sounded male or female, young or old. She could still hear the static, but as the voice spoke, she heard it less and less. “ _ It would be best if you didn’t acknowledge me at all. Most cannot comprehend my voice in this form. I also worry for your safety if those in charge knew I was speaking to you, _ ” the radio explained. “ _ Nevertheless, it is my pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Castiel _ .” 

 

“That’s my favorite radio station,” Claire said with a shaky smile. 

 

The three of them continued to have the strangest conversations over the next few days. Enid and Claire took incredible care to speak in double meanings, sometimes exchanging urgently discarded notes. Castiel would fill in the blanks, sometimes, but was incoherent more often than not. Sometimes he sounded (felt?) confused: repeating the same sentences over and over again, as if he was stuck in some sort of timeloop. Other times, he forgot he was speaking to Claire and Enid, addressing someone called  _ Dean  _ instead (a name that never failed to make Claire flinch, frown, or react in some negative way). 

 

Enid learned Claire and Castiel were trying to find a way out. She learned that Claire was brought to heaven about a year ago, and that Castiel was taken prisoner at the same time. Those events were connected, even if Castiel’s explanations were confusing, to say the least. Still, Enid found that she trusted the strange duo instinctively, despite herself. 

 

She and Claire struck a fast friendship. Enid started spending the nights in Claire’s bed. It felt innocent, like the sleepovers with her two best friends when she was ten and the only monsters in her life were the ones on TV. They used to have whispering conversations in the dead of night then, too. Even if the topics were incredibly different, it still felt so familiar to Enid. 

 

“I’m from Illinois originally,” Claire told her. “My dad, he left us. All of our relatives were super religious, so my mom fell out of touch with them. It was just the two of us for the longest time, even before everybody started getting sick.”

 

“It feels like a lifetime ago,” Enid said softly. She was lying on her back, eyes fixed on the motionless ceiling fan. “Remember how everyone thought it was a big hoax?” 

 

“Yeah, it was just before Halloween. All the kids at my school were going to dress up like Zombies,” Claire said. “Then they said it was some kind of bird flu outbreak. My school was an evacuation zone at some point, but I think it was overrun. My mom and I decided to board ourselves up at home, actually. Best decision ever, until the food ran out. Then we sort of drifted with one group or another.”

 

“It was always just me and my parents,” Enid said. “They treated it like some kind of an adventure in front of me, even if I was old enough to know better. It was so stupid the way they died. Our car broke down and they didn’t notice the walkers were getting too close. My mom could’ve taken them.” Enid smiled. “She was so  _ badass _ , you wouldn’t’ve believed it if you saw her.” 

 

“The dead weren’t really the problem in our case. My mom was just too trusting. I think I was the one protecting her most of the time. She still died defending me. We were with this group… they were insane. Like, total psychos.” Claire let out a harsh little laugh. “They were going to kill me too, but, um, you-know-who showed up.” 

 

“How did you get away?” Enid asked.   
  


“We  _ didn’t _ .”   

 

The conversation was going a little too far into the forbidden territory, so Enid wisely changed the subject. “You know, I was on my own for a long time. Just surviving somehow. But then I ended up in Alexandria. This place kind of reminds me of it, now that I think about it.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yeah, before Carl and his dad came along. Then people started dying and it stopped being so… Pleasantville.” Enid sighed. “It was going to happen anyway. It’s a miracle the place was left standing for so long. It’s better now, like, it’s more real.” 

 

“I think I would like to see it. Someday.” Claire admitted after a pause. 

 

After the blackout in Heaven, things changes. It wasn’t just the two (three?) of them anymore. For one thing, Enid wasn’t the only one to spend the nights at Claire’s house. It started with the three younger kids. They were clever to keep their mouths shut about it, but after the flashlight conversation, they stopped trusting the faceless creatures who posed as their parents. To make room, she and Claire removed all the furniture from the living room, and instead covered the floor with mattresses from wall to wall. 

 

The next evening, Carl was dragged in by Susan, who never seemed to leave his and Judith’s side anymore. “It makes sense!” Susan insisted. “Why are you being so stubborn?” 

 

Carl glanced at Enid. He didn’t really manage to hide his blush behind his long hair. He mumbled something that got lost under Judith’s babbling voice. 

 

“He’s just afraid I’ll cut his hair when he’s sleeping,” Enid mock-whispered to the little girl. 

 

Susan rolled her eyes. She turned to Carl, and said very earnestly, “I’ll protect you.”

 

They were only missing the other boys, Mikey and the twin brothers Scott and Jake. It seemed unlikely they would come on their own, but then Claire, who hadn’t forgotten Scott’s confession about his dad, went ahead and asked the boy if he wanted to join them. Scott immediately said yes. His brasher brother scoffed, but showed up the following night just the same. Mikey, not wanting to be left out, joined as well. It was like a weird slumber party with a big age range that never actually ended.  

 

Living so close together, and with a shared goal in mind, they all seemed to be getting closer. Their days were spent looking for that mysterious exit, “something out of place”. Enid and Annabelle, who turned out to be a surprisingly good climber, searched the rooftops and the treetops. Carl even let Susan watch Judith for short periods of time, while he and the other boys went through each one of the houses. Most of the time they just seemed to be goofing off, happily making a mess of each room they visited. Even little Oliver helped in a way, crawling into the tight nooks and crannies the rest of them couldn’t reach. The all combed through the woods, even scuba diving in the lake. 

 

Brian, of course, popped up and wanted to know what exactly they were all doing. He seemed very pleased by Claire’s excuses of slumber parties and treasure hunts. 

 

It was… fun. Enid was actually having a great time, for the first time in forever. The nights were a bit crowded and both Enid and Claire were very firm about which side of the room the boys were allowed to sleep in, but it was kind of nice to just watch movies and fall asleep surrounded by people you knew were real. Even if Judith sometimes cried for no reason, or if Jake kind of snored, it felt good to know where everybody was. Enid fell asleep easily, lulled by a general feeling of safety. 

 

It almost felt like a betrayal when Susan went missing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penny for your thoughts?


	7. The Great Escapist

Enid preferred to sleep next to the wall, just under the bird-shaped nightlight. It was Carl who had plugged it into the power socket one evening, and every night since a gentle blue hue brightened the place where they all slept. That morning the night light was flickering on and off, buzzing slightly every time the light sizzled out. It woke her up. 

 

“It’s been doing that awhile,” said Claire. 

 

Enid blinked, half asleep, at the older girl. Claire sat by the window, huddled in a nest of blankets. The dawning light created a halo around her messy blonde hair. She was always the first one to wake in the mornings. Enid knew she liked to count the houses on their street. The houses were not really identical, much as the street was not really endless. New houses meant new arrivals to their neighborhood. Kids who were taken in the middle of the night, just like the rest of them. 

 

The blank look on Claire’s face told Enid all she needed to know. New houses meant new kids. Missing houses, however... 

 

Enid sat up so she could better scan the room, studying each one of the sleeping lumps with a sinking heart. Who was missing? She couldn’t immediately tell. Finally, she realized there was an empty space between Annabelle and Daliah. The blanket and pillow were still there, rumpled and slept-in. She didn’t want to look, but if she did, she was sure she’d find a few strands of coarse red hair on the pillow. 

 

“Claire?” her voice came out so small she hardly recognized it. Claire nodded once, her face crumpling for a single moment before that empty mask fell in place again. The radio Claire carried everywhere was nowhere in sight. Just as well: Castiel hadn’t spoken to either of them in days.

 

Everybody else was still peacefully asleep. The silence was far from comforting, disturbed only by the buzzing sound of the flickering light. Enid suddenly couldn’t stand to be in that room anymore. She picked herself up, carefully making her way between the sprawled bodies. She paused only to put on her sneakers. She passed Claire’s parents on her way out. Strangely, both of them were just standing there, unmoving. 

 

Despite the early hour and the fresh dew collecting on the green grass, it was neither warm nor cold outside. It was very silent, the constant background noise muted. It was as if the whole place was reflecting the wrongness Enid felt. She looked for the house with the green door, looping the street at least a dozen times. At last she accepted the fact that it was truly gone. 

 

Her feet carried her to the woods, through a path between the houses. As always, it gave way to tall trees carrying colors of all seasons, although the oranges, reds and greens seemed somewhat faded. The Christmas lights that used to hang from the branches were gone, the treetops looking incredibly naked without them. Their leaves ruffled gently, sadly, in the breeze. 

 

She couldn’t really cry. There was no point in crying. Claire didn’t cry, and she’d been there for  _ a year. _ How many missing houses were there in all that time? Not to mention Susan, and all the other kids that passed through this Heaven, could still be alive somewhere. They didn’t really know. They had only their guts and the uncertain words of… some sort of presence, a voice without a voice… to tell them otherwise. 

 

Enid realized she was crying. She rubbed her face furiously with her sleeve. 

 

She walked for the longest time, always ending in the same places, no matter which direction she took. The lake, the playground, the grassy hill. All of those places that suddenly looked foreign and bleak. Even the swans were nowhere to be seen. She took off in a run, but again and again, she found herself going in circles. 

 

Breathing constrained, she came to a stop next to a large oak. She fell back against the tree, the back of her head hitting its trunk. It made a dull, hollow sound. 

 

Blinking in confusion, Enid looked back at the oak. Rooted in the tree trunk, and perfectly in sight, was a round little door. It hung a few feet above the ground, its wood painted a moss green. It was big enough for her to squeeze through, even though it didn’t seem like there was anywhere to go. The oak was large but not huge. Somehow, Enid didn’t think that mattered. 

 

Swallowing, she reached for the door handle and pulled. A light so bright she couldn’t stand to look at it engulfed her. Almost immediately she slammed the door close. Hand still on the handle, she rested her forehead against the little door. Enid couldn’t help a small, teary laugh. 

 

She turned on her heels and ran back to Claire’s house. 

 

It was chaotic. Everybody was gathered outside. The younger children were crying silently, clinging to Claire once again. They stood huddled together, unable to tear their eyes away from the conflict. Judith was howling in Scott’s arms, heedless of his awkward attempts to calm her down. Jake and Mikey were both physically restraining Carl, who wasn’t doing anything but standing still, looking like he  _ needed  _ to be restrained. 

 

They were all looking at Brian who was rubbing his jaw in shock. Enid guessed someone had hit him, and she had a pretty good guess as to who. 

 

“Just tell me what you did to her.” Carl’s voice was steady. 

 

“Nothing!” said Brian. His eyes darted around wildly, pleading. 

 

“If you hurt her-” and here Carl’s voice did break. And damn it, Enid had been so preoccupied by her own feelings that morning, she didn’t stop to think about Carl’s reaction to Susan’s disappearance. Even since they arrived, the little girl had followed Carl around. And he didn’t mind, he didn’t mind at all. He treated her like she was his little sister. 

 

“How can you think that?” Brian asked, and the despair in his voice even stopped Carl. “I would never do anything to hurt any of you. I’m… listen to me. I only want to help you. I only ever wanted to keep you safe. I swear.” He reached a hand toward Claire and the three younger children, silently asking for support. The children flinched, Oliver burying his face against Claire’s side. 

 

Brian looked like he’d been slapped in the face. In a shaken voice he asked, “do you  _ all  _ think that?”  

 

None of them replied. Brian looked, well, devastated. In a soft voice he said, “Susan is my friend. My responsibility. You all are. I would never hurt you. Please. Please… believe me.” His voice broke and he shuddered. “Okay, okay, okay. I can fix this. Look, if she’s not here, it means my colleague must have taken her back. I’ll just go and check on her. I’m not supposed to, but I’m going to check up on her, I promise. I’ll go and check right now, okay? Just,” he held his palms out  in a calming gesture. “Please, just wait for me. There’s got to be a reasonable explanation for all of this.” 

 

A moment later he was gone. 

 

“Let go of me,” Carl said quietly. The two boys let go of his arms. He sat down, collapsed actually, on the porch step, dropping his forehead on his knees. His hair fell over his face, hiding whatever might have been visible otherwise. Scott, still holding a crying and squirming Judith, sat down next to him, not saying a word. 

 

“Well done, dumbass,” Jake said, without much feeling. “You just killed all of us.” He sat down on Carl’s other side, boxing him between himself and his brother. He put a comforting hand on Carl’s shoulder.

 

“We shouldn’t even be talking about this,” Mikey said, looking at all of them uncertainly. “Right?” 

 

“Dude, the jig is up. He knows,” Jake said. Then he looked at Claire for confirmation, raising a thick eyebrow. “So, now what?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Claire said softly. 

 

“You don’t know much, do you?” Carl said, voice rough. He raised his head to look at her. “Susan followed your rules, she was  _ smart _ . Your rules didn’t help her at all. Do you actually know anything useful?” 

 

“Dude,” said Scott quietly, “cut it out, it’s not her fault.”

 

“Guys,” Enid said, softly. In all the commotion she almost forgot what brought her running to them. “I found the exit.” All heads swerved to look at Enid in shock.  

 

“I’m pretty sure,” Enid answered the silent question. “Come on. I’ll show you.” 

 

They followed her into the woods. To her everlasting relief, the door hadn’t disappeared. It stood there, innocently fixed inside the wood, until Enid opened it and let them see the burning light for themselves. They all turned their faces away, covering their eyes, all except for Claire, who for the first time that day looked  _ alive _ . 

 

“I can’t believe we didn’t see it before,” Claire said. “I must have searched this entire area about a hundred times.” 

 

“Castiel said we wouldn’t be able to find the exit unless we really  _ wanted  _ to find it, didn’t he?” Enid said and shrugged. “Maybe you didn’t wish hard enough?” 

 

Claire huffed in annoyance. “Or maybe I just didn’t notice it before. Whatever. Let’s get out of here.” Before they left the house, Claire had grabbed her radio. It was silent, despite the little light that said it was turned on. “Cas, any last warnings?” she said, and waited, but the radio stayed silent. She dropped it to the ground. “Guess not.” 

 

“I’m not sure we could all actually fit,” Jake said, eying the little round door critically. “We don’t even know where this thing goes.” 

 

Carl added, “what if it’s random? Could we end up in the middle of a herd? I can’t risk Judith.” 

 

“I’ll go,” Claire said. “That was kind of the plan all along. Find the exit, then find Cas, and then he shuts this place down safely.” They all looked at her uncertainly. Enid sometimes forgot that the rest of them have never actually heard Castiel before, that only she and Claire had that particular ability. 

 

“I should go with you,” Enid said. “I’m pretty sure I can squeeze through, too.” 

 

“No,” Claire said, shaking her head before Enid finished speaking. “You’re the only one left who can talk to Cas. You need to stay here and monitor the radio. He’ll be your only link to me.” 

 

“I don’t like this,” Jake said. “You have no idea what’s behind that door. We don’t even know that it  _ is  _ an exit.” 

 

“It’s either this, or stay here and wait to be picked off one by one,” Claire countered. “Guys, let me do this. I  _ need  _ to do this.” 

 

“Claire, I don’t want you to die,” blurted Oliver. She sighed and knelt down to hug him, then took his skinny little shoulders in her hands. “We’re all gonna be okay, but I need you to be brave now, okay buddy?” Oliver nodded. She squeezed his shoulders, then looked up at the rest of them. “Trust me, okay?” 

 

Reluctantly, they nodded. 

 

Claire stood up. She pulled the door open, and with a boost from Mikey, went through. Enid stared determinedly after her, ignoring the spots dancing in her vision. It wasn’t a dignified leap, the door was too small for that, but then Claire was gone all the same. Mikey slammed the door shut as he stood. 

 

“Claire?” Carl called out. There was no reply, of course. They stood there for several long minutes, staring dejectedly at the little door. 

 

“Fuck it,” Enid said, finally. “I’m going after her. Castiel. Cas, if you can hear me, wherever you are, just, um, just scream if everybody needs to haul out of here fast. Do that static thing. Okay?” Of course, there was no response. 

  
“Okay,” she said. She didn’t bother saying goodbye, or even listen to their half-hearted protests. Wherever that little door took her, she was going to be  _ free _ . And she  _ would  _ see them all again. Enid was a good climber. She didn’t need anyone to boost her up. Carl yelling her name was the last thing she heard before everything she even knew was  _ light _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to use Enid’s tendency to run away as a character strength. Of course she’d be the one to find the way out if wishing for an out was really the way out :)


	8. This Soft Exterior

Claire rolled onto her side, burrowing her face into the pillow. A shiver went through her, skin breaking out in goosebumps. She patted the mattress blindly, letting out a soft grunt when she couldn’t find her blanket. Too tired to look beyond the bed, she curled around herself, rolling to her stomach and tucking her bare arms underneath her body. In the back of her mind, she wondered why her bedroom smelled like salt-water. 

 

Memories came rushing back. With a gasp, Claire launched herself out of bed. The distance to the ground was farther than she thought; she landed  _ hard _ , hitting her elbow and biting her tongue by accident. 

 

“Ow.” She wiped her mouth, noticing a small smear of blood on the back of her hand. Her right elbow throbbed awfully but at least it wasn’t broken. She looked up to find she’d been sleeping in a bunk bed - the upper bunk - and it was the big kind that was meant for adults, not the kiddie stuff. She was lucky she didn’t break her  _ face  _ with that little swan dive. 

 

Claire flexed her left arm, smiling despite the pain but mostly because of it. After all, there was no pain in Heaven.

She stood on shaky legs, studying her surroundings. The room was drab and cramped. There was no sunlight coming in on account of the room not having any windows. A tired-looking light bulb hung from the ceiling, close to burning out but still managing to produce a dim light. The bunk bed took out most of the space. Opposite the bed, maybe two feet away, stood a tall metal locker (empty, she noted). There was also a folding table that was attached to the wall, and a little stool next to it. 

 

She looked down at herself, surprised to find that she was in the same clothes she’d been wearing a year ago, except that her purple hoodie was gone. She remembered it getting splattered with her mother’s blood. The murdering bastards had turned to her next, strapping her down to a table kicking and screaming like a banshee. Then, out of nowhere, Castiel had appeared. They never stood a chance. He was about to free her when… she couldn’t remember what happened, it was just a blur of light and blood. She woke up in a place called Heaven and had been there ever since. 

 

Claire’s shoes were gone, too. She was left in thick wool socks, a pair of ratty jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. She checked her pockets, finding a flattened matchbox and a strip of Big Red gum she’d been saving up all those months ago. With a shrug, she popped it into her mouth, chasing away the sleep-taste, and threw the wrappings on the ground. 

 

The door was unlocked when she tried it. She found a long hallway with a lot of doors, all of them bearing little number signs. It looked a little like a hotel corridor if the owner thought plastic floors were all the rage and sometimes forgot to pay his utility bill. Most of the fluorescent lights above her were dead, a few blinking in and out. There were no windows in the corridor, either. Claire startled a little at a sudden loud knock, like metal settling down. 

 

“This isn’t creepy at all,” she mumbled. 

 

She opened the doors one by one, each of them revealing another identical room. There were more doors than the kids she left behind in Heaven, but maybe, Claire thought, if she woke up here, the others were around as well. She grew more anxious at the sight of each empty room before finally, almost at the end of the corridor, she found someone. 

 

The person sleeping in the lower bunk was Mikey, the teenage boy who had shown up together with Enid’s group. Sometimes it happened like that: a single community was cleared out of everyone underage, Heaven’s version of No Child Left Behind. 

 

Out of all of them, Mikey was the one she knew the least. The boy was a little younger than herself, with pale skin and a bad haircut. What was it with the boys in their group, anyway? Alright, fine, they had bigger problems, but if they ever made it out of this, Claire was going to run Mikey and Carl both with some scissors. Maybe their shared manpain could help resolve whatever tension was lurking there. Claire meant to ask, but somehow it always slipped her mind. 

 

“Mikey?” Claire shook his shoulder, finding his skin cold to the touch. “C’mon, Mike,” she said, shaking more firmly. He was lying on his back in plaid pajama pants, arms resting straight at his sides. His thin chest wasn’t rising and falling like it was supposed to - everything about him was far too still. 

 

Teeth worrying her lip, Claire reached under his jaw to check for a pulse. Over a minute had passed before she felt it, and another minute until the next beat came. She exhaled slowly, dropping her hand. Whatever curse they were under, it was clear she wasn’t going to wake them up without some serious intervention. 

 

“I’ll be back,” she promised, slipping out the door and making sure to shut it behind her. She might have been out of the game for a while but she still remembered that ghouls couldn’t open doors. Who even knew if any were around? Lying there as he was, Mikey was an easy meal. And come to think of it, Claire wasn’t much better off herself.

 

_ I need to find a weapon _ , she thought. 

 

An idea came to her mind: she should mark the rooms where the other kids were, so she could find them again easily if she had to. Claire popped the gum out of her mouth and stuck it to the door. Kind of gross, but it did the job. Better than trying to remember all the room numbers, at least. 

 

“I need to find a damn pen, too,” she said out loud. 

 

The end of the corridor brought a few interesting discoveries. She found a little one-person-sized elevator. She dismissed it almost immediately: the last thing she needed was to get stuck there. What caught her attention, however, was the man-sized sign by the elevator. She leaned in close, squinting in order to make out the words in the weak light.  

 

“I’m on a ship,” she realized. The floor beneath her feet felt surprisingly steady. 

 

It must be huge, Claire thought, because there were a lot of levels (or decks, as the sign said). According to the sign, she was located fairly low at deck B, where the “temp. workers cabins” were located. The decks below seemed to contain mostly machinery and other technical sounding titles. She guessed she needed to go up instead. Luckily, where there was an elevator, there were also stairs. She found the entrance to the stairway at the next door. 

 

Claire made another interesting discovery just beyond the stairway entrance: a large box hanging from the wall - a fire-aid. The box had a glass covering that bore the words  _ push in case of emergency _ . Well, she had an emergency. The glass broke with little effort, caving forward easily and almost noiselessly like it was probably meant to. 

 

“Hello beautiful,” Claire all but purred and plucked the axe from its hooks.

 

It was fairly light, she found, testing its balance. She checked the blade part, finding it duller than she’d like. A weak weapon is better than no weapon at all, but she still had no idea what sort of enemy she was about to face. How strong were the Zanna, exactly? She had a feeling she was going to find out. The dead were another potential problem, of course. if there were any ghouls around, she hoped they’d be rotten. Rotting ghouls had soft skulls.

 

The level above (C-Deck: Cabins A-D, Recreation Room, Gymnasium) was just another long corridor with personal cabins for the most part. The cabins were a lot more lived-in, the crew’s personal belongings scattered all around as if most of them had left in a hurry. She found a black marker, which she used on a couple of doors (Jake and Annabelle) and a box of stale chocolate bars that she chose to eat immediately.  

 

She didn’t realize it before, but she was starving. Come to think of it, Claire remembered she’d been very hungry the day her mother died. They both hadn’t eaten in days. Possibly, that feeling stayed frozen until she woke up. 

 

Oddly, the higher she went, the darker the decks seemed to be. The higher decks had much better accommodations overall (Claire was kind of peeved she’d been stuck in the crappy level). The cabins were larger, with a single bed and an en-suite bathroom for each. 

 

In one of the spacious rooms, she found Carl. He was lying perfectly still, exactly like Mikey did, dressed in a white t-shirt and sweatpants. Like Mikey, he was also cold to the touch. He seemed to breathe, but only every other minute. Claire barely noticed all of that. 

 

“What happened to you?” she whispered, staring at the bandage covering the right side of his face. Of course, Carl didn’t respond. For the first time, Claire was angry at herself for insisting the rest of them stay behind. The silence was unnerving and finding her friends’ sleeping, helpless forms shook her more than she’d ever admit. 

 

Like she did for the others, Claire painted an X sign on Carl’s door. And angry sounding scream startled her; the marker fell, one edge of the X smearing down the door. She gripped her axe tightly and made her way down the corridor. Following the scream was a loud crash and a pained cry. It was all coming from behind a large door labeled  _ Kitchen & Pantry _ . 

 

Claire dropped down to her hands and knees, peeking under the door gap. She couldn’t see much, but this close she could hear a lot better. There were two men in the kitchen. One was wearing crocs, of all things. The other was hidden from her, but she could hear his pained groans. 

 

Crocs was saying, “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, buddy. We make a great team.” 

 

“You tricked me,” gasped the injured man, whose voice Claire recognized. It was Brian.

 

“Eh,” Crocs shuffled his feet. “I told a few white lies. Really, we were both getting what we wanted, weren’t we?” He continued, ignoring Brian’s pained no’s, “you were living the  _ dream _ , babysitting all those kids. I mean, a Zanna’s dream-life is kind of  _ weird _ but I’m not judging! We are all just as the humans made us, right?” he sighed wistfully. “We can’t change what we are, buddy. Alright, I tricked you, but I was doing you a favor. Out there? You were wasting away. I gave you the power to be the protector you always wanted to be. Sure, the kids came and went but that’s nothing new for your kind. That’s the beauty of it, you’ve been doing just this your entire existence.” Crocs’ voice seemed to perk up a little. 

 

“No,” Brian gasped. “ _ No _ . I’m a Zanna, a  _ Zanna _ . We help kids, we  _ help  _ them... until they don’t need us... anymore. We don’t deliver them to be  _ butchered _ .” 

 

“Oh, come on, that’s a bit harsh,” Crocs protested. “It was very humane.  _ Humane _ , funny word, isn’t it? Free-range, organic…” he carried on. “If you think about it, I’m practically a vegetarian.” 

 

_ He’s been eating us, _ Claire realized in horror. 

 

Brian let out a sob. “I revoke it.” 

 

“Ex- _ cu _ -se me?” Crocs gaped. 

 

“I revoke it. I know you can’t-” Brian’s breath rattled, and a long moment passed before he composed himself. “- _ feed _ without my per-” a gasp, “ _ permission _ .” 

 

“It doesn’t work like that, you silly creature,” Crocs said, sounding angry. “You can’t un-gift a gift. You gave them away fair and square.” 

 

“I didn’t give them to you!” Brian cried, and suddenly he was up, his feet appearing in Claire’s line of vision. The two men, creatures, fought. It was obvious Brian was losing badly, even if she could barely see it. It was over quickly: Crocs was standing over a sprawled Brian. Claire managed to see a glimpse of his face before Crocs dragged him out of sight. She heard a door slamming and then a deadbolt locking. 

 

“Stay there and think about what you’ve done,” Crocs grumbled. 

 

With a sinking heart, Claire realized he was coming her way. She scrambled back to her feet, flattening her back against the wall and waiting for the door to open. She gripped the axe tightly and swung it with all her strength. 

 

The sharper end embedded itself in Crocs’ chest. For a moment they both stared at each other in surprise, Claire’s fingers still wrapped tightly around the axe handle. A smile crept up the man’s face, twisting his bulbous cheeks. 

 

“Hello little girl,” he said, mouth full of pointed little teeth. “What are you doing out of bed?” The axe was still stuck in his chest but he paid it no mind, like he couldn’t even feel it. 

 

Claire tried to run, but she only managed to turn her back before his hand was gripping a fistful of her hair. She screamed, half in anger, half in fear, and tried to drive her good elbow into his face. He used his grip on her hair to all but fling her against the nearest wall. The hit knocked her to the ground. A moment later she was scrambling to her feet. Blood dripped from her scalp and down her shirt; Crocs had uprooted a clump of her hair. 

 

She wasn’t fast enough to dodge his next assault. He was faster than his heavy frame suggested, grabbing hold of her by the arm and pushing her inside the kitchen. She half stumbled, was half pushed, against the industrial kitchen counter. She was barely able to contemplate running again when she felt a hand on the back of her head slamming her down against the counter. It must have knocked her out for a few seconds, because when she came to, Crocs was glaring down at her, framed by a doorway. 

 

“You only have yourself to blame, you know.” 

 

“Fuck you,” she snarled.

 

“Rude.” Crocs all but pouted. He sighed, adding, “so, can I be honest with you?  _ I’m stuffed _ . Seriously, can’t have another bite right now. I need to watch my figure, you know?” He patted his bulging stomach, chuckling. “So… you’ll just have to wait your turn.” 

 

“ _ Fuck _ .  _ You _ .” 

  
Crocs pursed his lips primly. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I guess I can have some dessert later. You,” he pointed at her, “be a good girl and wait for me here. I need to make sure none of the other little birds flew the coop.” And with that, he pushed the heavy door closed. Claire heard the deadbolt effectively sealing the room and trapping her inside in total, absolute darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Claire. Please let me know what you think! :)


	9. United We Stand

Claire yelled out her frustration, fist hitting the floor beside her; it was sticky. Angry tears prickled her eyes. She squeezed them shut and took a few steadying breaths. It didn’t make much of a difference. 

 

She opened her eyes and found that straining them didn’t help; the pantry was absolutely pitch black. There was no light coming through at all, not even a speck to see by. The heavy door must have been airtight - who’d deadbolt a pantry otherwise? - so there was probably a limited amount of breathable air. She had that matchbox in her pocket but… if she was running out of air, she probably shouldn’t light any matches, right? On top of it all, the place smelled absolutely rancid, like meat that was left out in the sun.

 

Claire wiped her hands on her jeans as she stood. A wave of nausea hit her; she swayed, reaching out blindly. She found what felt like a shelf system to lean on, knocking over a few cans as she did. One of the cans hit her foot and she hissed in pain. She waited until most of the dizziness went away, clinging to the metal. 

 

The first thing she tried was the door. Like she thought, the framing was airtight. There was nothing to pry apart; the hinges were on the other side where the deadbolt, or seal, was. Claire punched the door in frustration, leaving her with nothing but a sore fist. 

 

The pantry itself was pretty big, as much as she could tell. There seemed to be plenty of food left; the crew probably left in the early days, without taking much with them, and it looked like no one thought to scavenge the ship since. She wondered if they were out at sea. If so, she hoped Castiel was up to flying them - they  _ were  _ going to escape, damn it - because she had no idea how they were going to sail this monstrosity otherwise. 

 

She walking around slowly, keeping one hand stretched in front of her, the other using the shelf system for balance. Her foot hit something that let out a moan. 

 

“Brian?” she whispered. “Are you alive?” Horrified, she wondered if Zanna could turn. 

 

“Claire?” His voice was weak. 

 

She crouched next to him, keeping a hand on a shelf for balance. “Yeah, I’m here.” 

 

“How did you…?” His words were cut off by a violent coughing fit. He struggled for breath, spittle flying. 

 

Claire grimaced. In spite of her fear (really, what harm would  _ one  _ little match be?) she took out the matchbox. The little light wasn’t a big help; she needed to hold it very close to Brian’s face to see how injured he was. It was pretty bad; his face was drawn and bruised, blood dripping from his mouth and down his chin. He managed to stop coughing and even tried to smile at her reassuringly. 

 

The match burned out. She lit another, this time moving it down his body. He was slumped against one of the shelves, legs sprawled in front of him. There was a long, silver knife protruding from his chest, close to his heart… if he even had one. Who the hell knew, she thought. He seemed close enough to human to bleed, at the very least. The second match died; she didn’t put it away fast enough and it singed her fingers. She hissed, shaking her hand. 

 

“You… got out,” Brian managed to choke out. “Claire I’m… I’m so… I’m so sorry. I thought he was… like me, I was only trying to-” he groaned in pain, “trying to help you.” 

 

Tentatively, she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His hand closed around her forearm, clinging to it. “Brian, it’s okay,” she said, even if it really wasn’t. “If he’s not like you then what is he? How can we beat him?” 

 

“ _ Tlaloc _ ,” Brian spat. “He said his real name is-” pausing again to catch his breath, he continued, “his kind… eats. Needs sacrifices. I didn’t know.  _ I didn’t know _ ,” he insisted. He then pulled her hand from his shoulder to his chest, where the long knife was sticking out. Claire recoiled but Brian held on. “Take it,” he said. 

 

“No,” she said, horrified. He didn’t let her pull her hand away. “It’s stemming the wound. You’ll bleed out.” 

 

He shuddered. “I’m already...dead.  _ Claire _ , listen. You need to be very b-brave now.” His teeth started chattering. He was fighting for every word. “When he c-comes b-back, use it.” He let go of her arm to close both hands on the knife handle, crying out in pain when he started to pull. She put her hands on top of his and didn’t know whether to help him or to stop him. 

 

Eventually, Brian had to pause to gather his strength, gasping in pain all the while. “Kill him,” he finally said. “Then go d-down… down the ship… find a man b-bound. This-” he pulled a little more on the knife and Claire cried out on his behalf, “ _ His _ . He’ll...help you.” 

 

“Castiel?” she asked in a trembling voice. She didn’t know when she started crying. 

 

“You know…?” 

 

Claire let out a small, wet laugh. “We’ve met.” 

 

She felt Brian tense up and suddenly he really was pulling with all his strength, yelling out in pain and determination. The knife didn’t budge. Shuddering, Claire began to pull as well. The knife had caught on a rib. It took several moments for it to pop out with a sickening sound, gushing blood down her hands. She fell back from her crouch and scrambled away, bloody hands clutched tightly around the knife. It was absurdly sharp; she had cut herself a little by accident. 

 

“Brian?” she half-whispered. “ _ Brian _ ?” She still couldn’t see a damn thing. She felt torn between wanting to help and wanting to flee. Of course, there was nowhere to go. 

 

“S-sorry,” he finally gasped out. “ _ So sorry _ .” Brian took another long, rattling breath and then fell silent. She called his name a few times, but there was no reply. Trembling, Claire crawled closer. She reached out to check for a pulse. Her hand landed on his slack face at first and then slid down to his neck. He was dead. 

 

Claire let out a sob. It was ridiculous, she came out here to  _ kill him _ . Tricked or not, Brian was still part of the reason so many of them had died, and yet... with the exception of Cas, he’d been the only fixture in her life for the past year. He’d always been so kind to her and she knew, at last, that his kindness wasn’t faked. Steeling herself, she felt Brian’s face again and then positioned the long knife. It slid easily through his eye, destroying whatever chance he had of coming back as a ghoul.

 

She heard the door seal being released. Climbing to her feet unsteadily, she clutched the blade close to her chest, turning her back to the door. The sudden light would blind her, she knew, and it didn’t make sense to attack Crocs - Tlaloc, was it? - like she had before. He would see it coming this time. No, better make Tlaloc come to her. 

 

For the first time in a long time, she prayed to Castiel, like she had when she’d been strapped to that table all those months ago. Like she prayed when she was just a little girl, begging him to let her father come home.  _ Please, please let your knife be enough to kill him.   _

 

The heavy door was pulled open. 

 

“ _ Claire _ ?” Enid, it was  _ Enid _ . Claire turned around, half blind, and threw herself at her friend. Enid reeled from the impact but hugged back just as fiercely. 

 

“ _ How did you know I was in here _ ?” Claire cried out. 

 

Enid pulled back, looking at her critically. “Oh God, you look awful,” she said. “I woke up in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I found Oliver too but I couldn’t wake him up. I came down here to look for you. Then I saw a guy coming out of this room and he was kind of talking to himself, so I hid. Claire,  _ there was an axe stuck in his chest _ .” Enid stared at her, wide-eyed. 

 

Claire let out a laugh. “Yeah, that was me,” she said. “It didn’t work out but this,” she showed Enid the long silver blade, “this should do the job. I mean, that’s what…” she stepped back so Enid could look inside the pantry and see Brian’s body.

 

Enid’s eyes widened. “Is that...?” 

 

“Yeah, but listen, that other guy, Tlaloc, he’s some kind of creature. Enid, he’s been  _ eating  _ us. I think Heaven was just a place to, um, store us between feedings. Like a-” she looked around, “well, like a pantry, I guess? He said he couldn’t eat me yet cause he’s  _ full _ .” 

 

“...Susan?” Enid asked softly. 

 

Claire could only nod, not trusting her own voice. She inhaled sharply. “He’s strong. Really strong, Enid, but we  _ can  _ catch him by surprise...” 

 

A short time later found Claire locked inside the pantry again. This time she was facing the door, Castiel’s knife tucked in her waistband behind her back. She wasn’t standing around in the dark anymore. She and Enid found a few candles in the kitchen and had scattered them around the pantry. 

 

Claire wasn’t worried about running out of air anymore. Enid had looked at her in amusement when Claire raised that particular concern. She explained that no, a few lit candles really  _ couldn’t  _ eat away Claire’s oxygen supply. It would literally take days for a room this size, even if it was airtight, and the candles themselves would actually die out of oxygen starvation long before Claire herself needed to worry. Apparently, Enid’s parents had been scientists of some kind; her family’s dinnertime conversations were just that side of weird. Who knew? 

 

A forever later, the telltale sound of the door unsealing came. Claire practiced her meek, resigned face. 

 

“Did you enjoy your time out?” Tlaloc asked. He had pulled the axe out of his chest at some point, leaving behind an ugly hole. His voice sounded smug like before but Claire thought she heard a touch of anger in his voice. “So! I did the rounds,  _ as usual _ , and it took  _ forever _ , also as usual. Still got no idea why the stupid Zanna insisted on giving you kids  _ space _ , it’s not like you  _ needed  _ it. How is Brian, by the way? Oooh, sorry. Too soon?” His eyebrows wiggled at her like he just told a great joke. 

 

He gave a little huff of annoyance when she didn’t respond. “ _ Anyway _ , as it turns out, not all of my things are where I left them.”  He took a step toward her, looming despite being the same height as she was. It might have been a trick of the light, but his face seemed a little blue. Literally blue. “Care to tell me where the other one went?” he murmured. 

 

“Right behind you,” said Enid, coming out of her hiding place. Tlaloc turned dramatically, just in time for the flying projectile to hit him in the face and  _ explode _ . 

 

Like Claire, Enid had been taken in her normal clothes instead of in pajamas, even if unlike Claire she’d been taken in her sleep. For some reason Enid had a few green balloons in the zip pockets of her hoodie. She explained away her lack of sleep clothes by wanting to always be prepared - what if they were attacked at night? - but she didn’t really explain why she was carrying  _ balloons  _ around of all things. 

 

“You little…!” Tlaloc started to say but Enid managed to hit him in the face with another water balloon. 

 

Claire took advantage of his confused state by thrusting Castiel’s knife into his back. Tlaloc’s whole body went rigid and she spent another second literally twisting the knife. He screeched, arms flailing. She dodged out of the way, ducking under his arm, running out of the pantry and into the kitchen to stand next to Enid, putting the kitchen island between them and Tlaloc. 

 

“Eek!” Tlaloc squealed, he took a few unsteady steps into the kitchen. He tried to use his short, chubby arms to pull the knife out of his back, but he couldn’t quite reach. “I… what, you idiot girl, what did you do?” He threw a confused look back at the pantry, where Brian’s body was. Claire could tell the moment he figured it out. He moaned, “no… that was the  _ angel’s blade _ ?!” 

 

What followed was the weirdest chasing game Claire ever played. Tlaloc was far too slow now. He tried to go around the kitchen island toward them, but when he went right, they went right too, and when he went left, they did the same. 

 

“ _ Stop moving _ !” he demanded shrilly. His face seemed to be blubbering a little under the surface. He fell forward, elbows catching the kitchen island. “No, no,” he muttered around the water that was leaking out of his mouth. His eyes started to bulge like a giant hand was squeezing him around the middle. Tlaloc’s skin was becoming gummy and pale blue. He looked like he was going to burst. 

 

“Um… I think we should duck,” Claire said, pulling the wide-eyed Enid down to the ground. Just in time: they heard a ripping, squelching sound, a little bit like a balloon bursting but  _ bigger _ . Water exploded over the entire kitchen. The counter protected them somewhat but their pant legs became drenched from the water splashing on the floor. Bits of… flesh, she supposed, hit the walls like the pieces of a burst balloon rubber. They heard the knife hitting the floor with a clanking sound. 

 

Enid and Claire stood up slowly. They stared at what was left of Tlaloc’s body: a tiny mess of bluish goo.  

  
“ _Gross_ ,” they said in unison. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of the first half of the story :) Well, I say half, I originally intended to wrap up this particular portion in six chapters. I thought it was important for the kids to essentially rescue themselves, with Claire as the first abduction victim landing the final blow. 
> 
> Tlaloc, by the way, was a real Aztec deity. He was associated greatly with water elements and by extension, supplementing life, being known as a “provider” of sorts. He was also greatly feared. human sacrifice, particularly of infants and young children, was an important part of the worship rituals. I based Tlaloc’s childish, changeable personality on a couple of things. First of all, the age-old saying “you are what you eat”. Secondly, his historical representation and association with water and with the weather: they can be calm and pleasant, but also volatile and unexpectedly dangerous. 
> 
> ...Basically, I googled a deity who hasn’t shown up yet in SPN continuity, someone who is associated with human sacrifices, and who I could do a reasonable bait-and-switch for a Zanna. 
> 
> Speaking of the Zanna - poor Brian really did just want to help. In the SPN episode introducing them, it was described that each Zanna had a “thing”: his was being a Dad with a capital D. I picture him looking and acting a little like Phil Dunphy from Modern Family ;) In my mind he is drawn to kids who have difficult relationships with their fathers (which would be almost everyone). 
> 
> He was drawn to Alexandria by Judith. She’s described in the first chapter by Rick as a babbling toddler, like she was talking to an imaginary friend, only that she seemed too young for it - he was wrong of course: Judith is advanced for her age ;) I suppose that with all that running around that Rick does, Judith just misses her dad a lot. Both in the comics and in the show Rick has a bit of a disappearing act: he often goes on missions, knowing he might not come back, or just goes on supply runs other people could reasonably handle on their own. 
> 
> If you recall, the Zanna only showed up in a standalone Supernatural episode (11.08 Just My Imagination). I really liked the fact that they were shown to really be benevolent - creatures whose purpose is just to help children. Romanian folklore actually portrays them as guardian angels of sorts. I thought to myself: what would a creature like that do in the middle of the zombie apocalypse? They are not very powerful, after all. I imagine many Zanna died fighting zombies during the initial outbreak.
> 
> Next up, the second half of the story: Cas and his merry band of kids :)


	10. Rock the Boat

Enid picked up the long silver knife; the disgusted look on her face nearly sent Claire into a fit of giggles. The knife was dripping with that watery substance that Tlaloc had exploded all over the kitchen. Enid wiped it clean with a rag and then handed it back to Claire. 

 

“You know, I’ve seen plenty of real gore.” Enid studied a clump of blue gooey flesh that had landed on the counter. She then gestured down to her wet socks, wriggling her toes for emphasis. “Is it weird that this is grossing me out more?”

 

Claire snorted. “Ask me again next time we see somebody’s hanging guts.” She considered the blade for a few moments before pushing it through one of her jeans’ belt loops. It didn’t have a handle, but it was just thick enough to stay put. “Well? What do you think?” Claire struck a superhero pose, jutting her chest and putting her closed fists on her hips. Distractedly, she blew at the clump of blood-matted hair that fell in her eyes. 

 

Enid burst into laughter. “You’re a mess.” 

 

“A hot mess.” Claire grinned despite her split lip. “Come on, let’s go see if anybody’s up yet.”

 

Carl was the closest one to them. Claire pointed out the cabin (“cabins, not bedrooms, Enid”) with the scribbled lopsided X on the door. They found him still knocked out in that unnatural sleeping pose, which quickly put a damper on their post-victory high. Somehow, they both assumed that killing that demon (or whatever he was) would break the spell (or whatever that was), waking everyone up from their shared dream (or whatever it was). Obviously, what worked in stories didn’t really work out in real life.

 

“What happened to his face?” Claire asked after a moment of silence. 

 

“My ex-boyfriend shot his eye out.” 

 

“...Wow.” With her normal degree of tact, she added, “was he the jealous type?”

 

“Shut up. It wasn’t like that. Ron was aiming at Carl’s  _ dad _ .” At Claire’s side-eye she shook her head. “...It’s a long story.” Enid sighed. “We didn’t think he was ever going to wake up. But he did. Carl’s got a way of surprising people.” Enid looked like she wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. She sat down on the bed, taking his limp hand in hers. 

 

“Hey,” Claire hip-checked her. “Plan A, remember? We still need to find Cas. He’ll know what to do.” 

  
  


They headed for the stairs, stopping to grab a couple of flashlights from a utility closet. The ship had a lot of floors; climbing back up was going to be a bitch, Claire thought. Like before, she noticed that the lower they got, the brighter it seemed. They switched off their flashlights eventually. Finally, they reached the Under Deck, a long narrow corridor that eventually opened up into a great hall. It seemed that they’ve only been traveling along one side of the great vessel. 

 

“This ship is  _ huge _ ,” Enid breathed in genuine awe. “It’s like… the Super Star Destroyer Executor.”

 

“I have no idea what you just said.” Claire rolled her eyes at Enid’s offended face. “I think it’s one of those ships that haul containers around.” 

 

Size notwithstanding, it was pretty cramped; most of the space was occupied by large machines and a complex system of walkways, and those were fairly narrow as well. Very often they found themselves doubling back, having arrived at a dead-end. The machines themselves looked dormant and dusty, although from time to time a few moving parts would surge into life as if they’ve received an unexpected surge of power. 

 

A strange vibration seemed to permeate the air.

 

Claire had a sudden thought. She stopped, both hands on a safety rail, and turned to Enid. “This is gonna sound really strange,” she said, “but don’t you think that rumble is… kind of familiar?” 

 

“What rumble?”

 

“You can’t feel that?” Claire asked, surprised. Enid shrugged, shaking her head no.

 

Claire found she didn’t have the right words to explain. That vibration was calling out to her somehow, and in some strange way… a part of her seemed to call back, or resonate, in response. Claire had already figured out that Enid was like her, like Jimmy had been. What did Castiel whisper to her all those years ago?  _ Special _ . But unlike her, Enid had never been possessed by an angel. 

 

Claire closed her eyes, focusing on that tiny thread inside of her. Trusting her instincts, she followed that lead. “I think I know where to go now,” Claire said. The thread led them to a steel bulkhead door that looked like it was taken out of a submarine, complete with a wheel operated deadlock. There were signs on the door, most of them too faded to read, except for the words DANGER and DO NOT OPEN in great, big, red fonts. 

 

They exchanged nervous glances. “I really hope the ship’s not powered by nukes,” Enid said. 

 

“Wait, that’s possible?” Claire blanched. She knocked on the door, calling out, “Cas! Are you in there?” 

 

“Hey Claire, look.” There was a utility closet nearby, labeled “Safety Equipment”. Enid pulled out a couple of heavy looking suits. More stuff spilled out to the floor: heavy looking gloves, safety goggles, and even S&M-esque protective masks. “You think this can help?” 

 

It took a few minutes to figure out how to put all the stuff on and a few minutes more to  _ actually  _ put it on. The equipment wasn’t really their sizes; Claire felt awkward and clumsy. The mask was too heavy on her injured scalp and also made it difficult to see. Still, as a precaution, it seemed more than enough. 

 

It took their combined strength to unlock the door. Finally, with a hiss, it opened. And then... there was light. 

 

Enid screamed. Claire pulled her back into the relative safety of the hall then pushed forward herself. The light was so strong, in spite of the welding mask she was wearing. The chamber itself looked like it was taken out of horror movie; the ground and walls were covered in strange red markings and chains crisscrossed the space like spiderwebs. In the middle stood a man-shaped pillar of light. 

 

“Cas!” she called out, one hand raised protectively in front of her face. 

 

The feeling, the vibration that resonated in her, twinged a little. Through her stretched fingers, she thought she saw him move. “Claire,” he grunted. “Seal… on the ground.” 

 

At first she tried to scratch the paint off with her boot. It didn’t seem to work. Looking around frantically for anything that might help her, she spied a little tin paint bucket by the door. The lid was crusted shut. Her heavy-duty gloves were getting in the way, so she shook them off and tried again, prying the lid open with her nails and nearly ripping them out in the struggle. Finally, the lid came away. 

 

Claire threw the bucket’s contents on the ground. She slipped, partly because of the momentum, but mostly because of the mask (she did  _ not  _ see that chain in front of her face).  Thankfully, the mask absorbed most of the impact. She landed on her backside right on top of the wet paint puddle. 

 

The light didn’t go out in a blast like she expected. Instead, it seemed to hum and slowly pull back - back into Castiel. He glowed for a long moment… and then everything went dark. It took a few seconds for her to realize that it wasn’t just a change in the brightness’ settings: the ship itself had gone dark. 

 

Using the wall for support, she climbed to her feet, grimacing at the feeling of the wet paint on the back of her jeans. She took off her mask and dropped it at her feet before taking an uncertain step forward, hands raised in front of her.  

 

“Cas?” she whispered. “Castiel, can you hear me?” 

 

With a hum, the ship’s lights turned back on, dimmer than before. It looked like Castiel had been the one supplying power to the ship; maybe it was a bleeding effect of some kind. Now that he stopped, she realized that the ship’s emergency systems had engaged. Yellow lights flashed on and off at the hall outside. An alarm had activated somewhere on the ship; she really hoped it wasn’t the (maybe) nuclear reactor. 

 

A beam of light appeared in Claire’s light of sight. Enid was standing in the doorway, mask removed, shining her flashlight at Castiel. 

 

Enid gasped. “Are those  _ wings ?”  _

 

Somehow in all the action, Claire had missed the enormous white wings coming out of Castiel’s back. Although, in all fairness, a moment ago it quite literally hurt to look at him. 

 

Castiel himself didn’t look so hot; he was dirty and his clothes were in tatters. He stood at the center of the room, perfectly still, but not by choice. The collar around his neck was hooked to four different chains and those were pulled taut, leading up to different corners of the room. His arms and feet were cuffed, although their chains ended up in metal hooks on the ground, just between the markings. Feathers littered the floor at his feet, and the great wings were bound as well: cuffed at the joints and linked to chains that forced them to spread wide and high. 

 

The chains clanked. Claire looked over and saw that Enid was pulling at a big knot of them. With a jolt, Claire realized those chains weren’t just bolted to single hooks - they all went through  _ multiple  _ hooks and accumulated at a single point at the far wall, where they had been tied together. Luckily, there wasn’t a lock; the chains were simply wrapped around one large hook. Together, they managed to untangle them. 

 

“Look out,” Claire called out to Castiel belatedly. 

 

She and Enid had to jump out of the way when the chains suddenly lost their anchor. They swung about violently, gravity taking hold. Castiel didn’t stagger from the backlash. He tucked his wings against his back but otherwise did not move at all. 

 

“Cas?” Claire asked, stepping forward. With a trembling hand, she reached out to touch his arm. “Are you okay?” 

 

At last, Castiel's painfully familiar eyes focused. “Hello Claire.” His head tilted. “You’re hurt.”

 

Without thinking, Claire threw her arms around him. She felt him flinch, more startled by her than he was by the sudden weight of all those chains. She sobbed against his chest, the weight of that entire year unexpectedly heavy in her mind. After a moment, he wrapped his own arms around her, uncertainly. She felt something incredibly soft at her back. His wings, she realized, and only cried harder. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s canon that angels leave behind a piece of their grace when they leave a vessel. I always thought that’s so interesting. 
> 
> Speaking of vessels, the ship is definitely not nuclear powered. There’s only one cargo ship that runs on nuclear propulsion in the world today, and it’s not a mega class like this one is. 
> 
> What do you guys think of the story so far? I’m anxiously awaiting feedback, as always!


	11. Angel Freight

Claire cried for what felt like hours; she couldn’t stop. When she finally ran out of tears, she found herself unable to let go of Castiel, suddenly terrified that if she looked up, she would start hating him all over again.

 

It had been easier in Heaven, that strange dream world they’ve spent the past year in. There, his voice was soundless, a frequency she’d somehow understood. Here, his voice was a distorted version of her father’s. There, he was bodiless. Here… here he wasn’t. And she couldn’t bear the thought of hating him again, so she kept on clinging to him.

 

“Claire.” The worry in his voice was unmistakable. “What can I do?”

 

A laugh bubbled out of her. Finally, she found the strength to push away, batting away at the wings he most certainly did not have the last time she saw him. She looked up and felt relief washing away her fear. Maybe it was the fact that she’d spent a year with Jimmy’s ghost. Maybe it was the sight of those incredulous wings. Maybe she was just a heartless bitch. Whatever it was, she could look up at him and smile, and after all they’ve been through, that was enough.

 

“I’m okay,” she said, feeling a little wobbly. “Sorry I leaked snot all over you.”

 

“It’s fine,” he said so earnestly she couldn’t help but giggle. Then he turned to look at Enid, who’d been hugging the wall with her back throughout Claire’s little breakdown. “Hello again,” he said in his gravelly voice.

 

Enid simply stated, “you’ve got wings.”

 

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Yes, I know.”

 

“You’re an angel. A real one this time?” To Castiel’s bemused nod she eloquently added, “holy crap.” Enid took a few steps closer, unaware that she had grabbed Claire’s arm and was clutching it tightly. She opened her mouth a few times, looking like she couldn’t decide what to ask first. Finally, she settled on “can you fly?”

 

Castiel winced. “Normally, yes.” He folded the wings closer to his back, the feathers ruffling a little before falling flat. “Now…” He looked down at discarded feathers on the floor. They’d been carelessly stomped on, some of them nearly unrecognizable, stained red by the paint.

 

He continued, “They must look so very poor. They’ve never been clipped like this before. Normally I would put them away but…” he opened one of the wings, bringing it over his shoulder. They saw that there were metal cuffs wrapped around the appendage itself, creating ugly gaps between the feathers. “Do you see the etchings? They have to be painted over…” Castiel grimaced. “I’m afraid I still can’t move from this spot.”

 

“I’ll do it,” volunteered Enid, already pulling her sleeve over her hand and dipping it into the paint puddle on the floor. She then cautiously approached Castiel, who helpfully drew both of his wings over his shoulders, bringing the cuffs in Enid’s reach. “Um, should I just cover the whole thing?”

 

He shook his head. “Just enough to break the flow of the design. The chains as well, if you don’t mind.”

 

Enid painted over the four cuffs around Castiel’s wings, being very careful not to drip any paint directly on the feathers. She then proceeded down the length of the attached chains, replenishing from the paint puddle every so often. Claire helped by holding up the chains for her to work through and then tossing each length of chain aside once Castiel snapped it off.

 

“We weren’t _really_ in Heaven, were we?” Enid asked, only slightly awestruck by that point.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Castiel said, helpfully tilting his head so Enid could reach the runes on his collar. “I _am_ a celestial being of heavenly intent; my own grace was used to create a dimension similar in physical properties to a single personified heaven. Admittedly, it was - _is_ \- a poor version of it. I’m sorry,” he added, as an aside, “I did my best to create a stable environment for you, but the flow of energy was corrupted from the start. The seals Claire destroyed are absolutely abominable; they haven’t been used since Lucifer’s rebellion.”

 

“Satan’s real, too?” Enid blurted, accidentally brushing her paint-dripping sleeve on Castiel’s chin. “Was that...?” She took a step back and pointed a finger toward the higher decks, where their fight with Tlaloc took place. Castiel squinted at the ceiling searchingly.

 

“Was he the guy we just killed?” she clarified.

 

“No way, he was just a demon, right Cas?” Claire said, holding up the next length of chain to be painted over.

 

“Tlaloc? You killed him?” Castiel seemed oddly proud. “No, he was a god, not a demon.”

 

“We killed God?!” Claire and Enid cried in unison.

 

“No, just  _a_ god,” Cas stressed. “Aztec, to be precise. There have been many gods throughout human history. Mankind is very unique among my Father’s Creation. With shared belief, Humanity managed to create  _all sorts_ of creatures over time. Your souls are remarkably powerful.” Puzzled, he added, “I’ve always wondered about that. It’s quite odd, actually. Why breathe life into a being and then worship it in turn?” He looked at them expectantly.

 

“Um,” Claire said intelligently. She exchanged a look with Enid. “I don’t... um. I don’t think I’m qualified to answer that question.” He seemed disappointed, so she cheered him up by holding another chain for him to snap.

 

All three were spattered with red paint by the time Castiel was set free. With a relieved sigh, he shook his wings out. “Thank you, both of you.”

 

Then, something strange happened: there was a crack of thunder, loud like the lightning had struck the ship itself. The smell of something burnt filled the room. Claire and Enid screamed, scrambling back. Castiel himself gave a pained cry, falling to his knees. His wings had disappeared.

 

“Cas?” Claire cried, falling down on her knees beside him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

 

“I didn’t expect that to happen.” He groaned, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m sorry. The seals you’ve destroyed forced me to absorb a lot of power. Ugh, quite… quite a lot, over a long period of time.” He opened his eyes, looking at her gratefully. “It was very good of you to release me when you did. I’m not sure my grace would have stayed intact for much longer.”

 

“I saw that light go back into you,” Claire said uncertainly. “If it’s too much, why don’t you just release it?” He was shaking his head before she finished her sentence.

 

Castiel said, “a discharge like that would be catastrophic. And Claire, I’m _so very sorry_ ,” he looked at her sadly, “I can’t heal your injuries. Healing requires a substantial amount of power and I, um, I don’t have the necessary dexterity for it at the moment. I could burn you from the inside out.”

 

“Oh Cas, don’t worry about it, it’s not so bad.” She tugged on his arm. Enid took his other side, and together they pulled him back to his feet, bracing him as he swayed. “Just, no more freaky light powers until we figure out how to fix you,” Claire added. “Will you be okay, though? You’re not gonna explode or something?”

 

He grimaced. “The Grigori were said to have used this method before, to overpower themselves with the intent of launching suicide attacks in battle.” At their alarmed looks he added, “but my grace should recover eventually. I might be able to release some of the stored energy, perhaps a little every time.” He sighed. “Tlaloc was an idiot.”

 

“A real jerk, too,” Enid added.

 

Claire then asked, “we broke the spell, though, right Cas? Will Carl and the rest wake up now?”

 

“Wake up?” Castiel looked at her strangely. “But they aren’t asleep.”

 

Enid asked, “you can hear them from all the way down here?”

 

Still looking confused, Castiel answered, “Of course I can, they’re right here. And they are _very_ loud.”

 

“They’re… what?” Enid said.

 

Castiel frowned. ”They are _here_ , in me. Wasn’t… wasn’t that obvious?” He gave an exasperated sigh. “I’ve been trying to expel them ever since you’ve unchained me. They’re being quite stubborn. It’s good that Tlaloc put their bodies in stasis. Bodies without souls are  _very_ unpleasant. Don’t worry, once their souls are safely inside their physical forms they should be fine.” A concentrated look passed over his face. “Almost got it…”

 

“Heaven… is you?” Claire breathed, pulling away to point at him accusingly. “We’ve been  _inside of you_ this whole time?

 

“Um, yes? Didn’t I explain earlier?”

 

Enid wondered, “Where’d we even _fit_?”

 

“I’m very large,” Castiel told her honestly.   

 

“Enid, _shut up,_ ” Claire yelled when the other girl started to laugh.

 

“This is so wonderfully weird,” Enid giggled.

 

“How is that weird?” Castiel asked, head tilted.

 

Claire glared at him. She knew exactly how ridiculous she sounded when she asked, “why didn’t you let me have that motorcycle?”

 

“It’s a very dangerous form of transportation, Claire.”

 

“I couldn’t even get a papercut in there! And, and… what about the thing with the hairdryer? You didn’t let me have a hairdryer.”

 

Sheepishly, he said, “I thought it was a weapon.”

 

“A _hairdryer_ , Cas. It’s literally in the name.”

 

“The shape is misleading. Also, I assumed the name was a pun.”

 

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” she cried out.

 

“I’ve noticed that humans are very fond of ironic namings. Did you know there is a type of rifle called Winchester?” Before she could reply, an odd look crossed his features. “Oh, I think I’ve got it now. You two might want to take a step back. Um, another one, please. One more, thank you. Yes, that’s far enough.”

 

Castiel took a deep breath. He held it for a second, eyes closed in deep concentration. Then, he threw his head back, and with the exhale, bright light poured out of his mouth. The light was no less pure than before, yet somehow more bearable to look at, with an almost earthy feeling to it. It broke into separate beams before ascending through the ceiling, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

 

“ _So weird_ ,” Enid said again.


	12. Jersey Shore

Carl inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of the ocean air.

The dull headache that woke him up should've been his first clue. Instead, he'd reached up to rub away at (what he thought were) crusted eyelashes, and ended up poking his exposed eye socket through the bandage. _That_ pain got him stumbling out of bed in no time, all too aware that he wasn't in Heaven anymore.

A few hours later, he was standing on top of an enormous cargo ship, smelling seaweed and tasting salt on his lips.

The ship was docked at the end of a remarkably long pier, several miles off-shore. Carl was no expert, but even he could tell that it was a sloppy park job: a few containers had fallen from the main deck down to the pier, whose surface was tilted slightly, crushed under the weight of the massive vessel. There were walkers below them but they were still oblivious to their presence. The deck was too high and walkers, as a general rule, didn't look up.

They seemed to be of the "lurkers" variety, the kind that didn't roam randomly but was, for some reason, content to stand or lay around until something caught their attention. None of them looked particularly fresh; Carl wondered how long it had been for them, if they'd been standing around like that for months, or even years.

"I forgot how ugly they are." He heard Claire muttering from where she stood next to him, binoculars lifted to her face. She was looking at the long concrete road that led to the shore. "I count forty ghouls till the beach, including the ten directly below us. Most of them are spread pretty thin."

"I'm more worried about what comes after," Carl replied, pointing toward a wooded area beyond the shore.

"Can't tell, it's too dense." She put down the binoculars, holding them loosely in one hand. Sounding affronted, she added, "I still can't believe we're in _New Jersey_."

Carl snickered. "Cause everything else makes total sense, right?" he tapped her on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's go back inside, I heard there's an angel who might need our help counting soup cans."

Needless to say, Carl was having a strange morning.

Earlier, while they were regrouping (and Carl spent some time panicking before they managed to find Judith in the Captain's cabin, looking cuddly and sleepy and no worse for wear), Enid and Claire introduced the rest of their group to Castiel...who turned out to be a real person after all, one who had been held prison alongside them.

Also, Castiel was an angel. A real one. The girls were very insistent on that. Apparently, there'd been wings.

The man himself kept mostly quiet, looking slightly confused and a bit uncomfortable as the girls constantly interrupted one another recounting their experiences. The oddest thing was how easily Carl believed them. And by the look on the others' faces, they did too. The younger kids nodded sagely at the explanations, where Jake, Scott and Mikey just seemed awed and speechless (Carl looked like that too, he realized).

It wasn't that Castiel _looked_ like an angel (however Carl pictured angels looking like). He was scruffy and tired-looking, and his clothes were full of holes (particularly at the back, because, maybe, possibly, wings?) No, it was just that, looking closely, there seemed to be something otherworldly about him.

Maybe it was the way he seemed _familiar_ , even when Carl was sure he'd never seen him before. It might have been that his blue eyes didn't seem to blink as often as they should, or that he spoke so matter-of-factly about the supernatural creatures who'd kidnapped them with the intention of "eating their souls" (and Carl very definitely did not allow himself to think about Susan).

Maybe it was the way he'd ripped a locked solid iron gate off its hinges with his bare hands. Point was, Carl was adaptable.

Come noon, they'd turned the ship's navigation bridge into their temporary headquarters. It was a nice open space with plenty of windows and lots of colorful buttons that the younger kids had to constantly be reminded not to press. They spent some time looking for supplies, taking advantage of the ship's remaining backup power, and managed to find plenty of it, too.

Everything they've managed to scavenge from the lower decks was piled up at one corner: preserved food, water, spare clothing (although they couldn't find any that fit the younger kids), backpacks, toiletries and so on. They managed to scrounge up a few weapons as well: knives from the kitchen, a couple of axes and a crowbar that Jake instantly adopted. Mikey had appointed himself as their quartermaster, making lists of everything they had and everything they needed to look for on the outside.

Briefly, they discussed the idea of going through the water. Sadly, there were no ships around beside the enormous vessel (which they couldn't even begin to figure out how to sail) and the water seemed to be littered with debris and sad looking shipwrecks belonging to people who had had similar ideas in the past. Not to mention, as Carl reminded them, walkers _floated_. So walking it was. Or driving, if they got lucky (Castiel had also informed them, very apologetically, that he would've tried flying them all home if his wings hadn't been damaged).

Castiel didn't look up when they entered the navigation bridge, but he nodded once when Claire made her report on the number and state of the walkers outside. There had been an awkward air to him earlier, Carl realized, an odd gentleness. Not anymore. Now, Castiel looked razor-sharp in his focus, his expression grim.

He hadn't been counting soup cans. He and the rest of their little group (except for Judith and the other small children, who seemed to be playing an elaborate game of "throw the plastic cups as far as possible") were inspecting a large map, which they'd spread over a round bolted-down table. The bundle of maps was a lucky find; Castiel hadn't been able to tell them the name of the state they were in, but one look outside was all he needed to point out their exact location on the map (Sandy Hold, NJ, now circled in red).

"That's us," Enid was saying, half climbing over the table in order to draw a red circle around Alexandria. She pointed to another red circle farther north, "the twins," she pointed to another circle, crossing over to Pennsylvania, "and that's Annabelle. So far, everybody's not _too_ far away."

"The Zanna are not skilled teleporters," Castiel explained. "Even using borrowed power, traveling with companions is a massive energy drain."

"Looks like ours is the last stop," said Carl, studying at the innocent little circle around Alexandria. Across the table, Mikey let out a sardonic _yay_. Carl snorted, then asked, "what about Oliver and Daliah? Did you get something out of them?" Earlier, the two children had tried to explain in their own way (and in Daliah's case, her own language), but it was clear they didn't really know where their camps _were_.

Castiel shook his head, then added contemplatively, "I could take a look for myself."

"Cas!" Claire berated before the rest of them could ask what he meant, "you're supposed to _take it easy_."

"It is a _very_ small thing. I won't have to tap into my reserves at all."

Once he explained to them what he was going to do and had their consent (Daliah looking afraid, Oliver mostly curious), he touched their foreheads, one after another. Daliah, the little foreign girl, turned out to have the closest camp, a hotel southwest of Sandy Hold that her entire extended family had lived in. Then he checked Oliver, and whatever he saw there seemed to make him angry. Castiel didn't say much except that Oliver wasn't going back to his original camp.

The little boy didn't seem very bothered by that. "I wanna go with Claire!" he declared, clinging to her waist.

"I've nowhere specific to get back to, actually. It was only me and my mom before, and you know, she's dead, so..." Claire reached down to pat Oliver's messy hair. "I'll take care of you, buddy." Then she asked, "Cas, what about you? Where do you want to go?"

"Oh, my family is looking for me," Castiel told them, "I will join them when you are all safely returned home."

"Your… angel family?" wondered Carl.

Castiel shook his head. "My human family. Sam," he said, then added with a soft smile, "and Dean." He looked at Claire, expression turning worried. "You've met them once before. Claire, I assumed that… what I mean is… " he sighed. "I promised your father that I would keep you safe."

"Don't talk about him," Claire said sharply, but she looked more sad than angry. After letting out a long breath, she added, "yes, I'll stick around. Both of us, okay?" She squeezed Oliver closer to her.

Castiel nodded.

"Then okay, Cas."

Jake, who didn't have much patience for other people's sob stories, cut the tension. "So, we drop Daliah off, cross the interstate into Pennsylvania for Anna, and then continue down south." He traced the general path along the map with his finger. "Problem is, where to cross the '95? It's totally blocked in both directions, not to mention the shit-ton of roamers we're going to find."

Castiel frowned down at the map again, sounding troubled. "They do tend to herd. It will be difficult to protect you if we come across large groups."

"Do you know what they are?" Carl suddenly asked, surprised at himself for not raising the question sooner. Walkers had been a fact of life for years.

Castiel's head tilted. "Animated corpses. Colloquially they are referred to as zombies, but…" he seemed puzzled. "I believe most don't like that term?"

Carl had to grin at that old debate. "We call them _walkers_."

"We used ghouls," supplied Claire.

"Zack," said Daliah softly, surprising Carl who didn't realize she could understand them.

"Thrillers," said Jake. Everyone turned to look at him. His brother particularly looked skeptical. "Fine, not really."

"Stop trying to make _thrillers_ happen," Scott said, rolling his eyes. "It's just corny."

"Demons." That was Annabelle's shy voice.

"No," said Castiel, shaking his head. "This plague is not demonic in nature. Those," his head moved to indicate the outside, where the walkers roamed, "are just bodies fuelled by adrenaline and hunger…" he trailed off. Eventually, he added, "there's nothing inherently evil about them, they just are."

Carl insisted, "but where did they come from?"

"I don't know," Castiel replied simply. "I can see the spread of the disease in the air. In all of you. It carries no trace of Heaven nor Hell. And yet..." Castiel looked at them sadly, "it didn't come naturally." A long, somber silence followed his words.

Jake hooted suddenly, startling even Castiel. "I knew it! _Bioengineering_ ," he sneered, then slapped his scowling brother's back. "I won the bet, jerkface."

Castiel looked fondly at the brothers' antics. Then he said, "We should leave as soon as we can. I suppose that the safest option is to secure a vehicle. I'll see what I can find nearby."

"I'll come with you," Claire said immediately.

"No," Castiel replied.

"Do you even know how to jumpstart a car?" Claire countered. "Or how to drive one, for that matter?"

"I've seen it done," Castiel said earnestly.

"We should all come with you," said Enid. Jake and Scott nodded in agreement. Mikey just looked queasy.

"The plan is to _scout ahead_ ," Castiel argued.

"I'll go," Carl said. "Claire, you really should stay. You're injured, and you haven't fought walkers in months."

" _You're_ injured, dumbass." Claire snapped.

"I've had time to heal and train. Your limp is a bigger problem than my eye."

Castiel sighed. "Enough. We have a long journey ahead, you'll have plenty of opportunities to prove yourselves. _One_ of you may join me - the rest should stay behind to prepare for the road."

He then gave them a pleased smile. "Now, as to who - I've been informed that there is a _traditional_ approach to solving such conflicts. Normally, it would take just two participants, but I believe you could take turns…"

A few rounds of Rock-Paper-Scissors later declared Carl as the winner.


	13. Wayfarer's Prayer

Carl picked up a meat carving knife from the weapon stash. It was nice and sturdy and about as long as his forearm. He took the time to use a sharpening rod on it, one more useful thing they've picked up in the ship's kitchens.

"I'll add sheaths to the list," said Mikey, handing Carl a length of fabric for a makeshift weapon holder. True to his word, he pulled out a small notepad from the back pocket of his oversized jeans.

"Careful, you're turning into Olivia." He meant it as a joke, but Mikey just shrugged without looking up from the notepad. Grimacing, Carl quickly wrapped the knife in the fabric and tied it to his belt, then picked up a second, smaller one to put in his boot, just in case.

On the other side of the navigation bridge, Castiel was waving away Claire's attempts to hand him a long, silver blade. "You keep it, it suits you." He flicked his wrist and another knife, identical to the one Claire was holding, dropped down from his sleeve to his hand. "I've made another one this morning."

 _That's useful_ , thought Carl, patting his makeshift knife-tie to make sure it was still holding.

"I thought you didn't like me handling weapons." Claire crossed her arms over her chest.

"I don't," Castiel said simply, the blade disappearing with a second flick of his wrist. "But now you need one."

They didn't waste much time before heading out. Getting down from the ship proved to be a small challenge: the mechanical gangways didn't work when the ship was out of power (having run out its emergency juice earlier that morning). Luckily, they discovered a failsafe in the form of rolled up ladders attached to the ship's rails.

Castiel went down the ladder first. He took care of five walkers before Carl's feet even hit the pier. He handled the remaining ones in the few seconds Carl needed to draw his knife. It _would_ have been pretty cool, Carl admitted to himself, if Enid didn't happen to be watching from the upper deck. He heard the rest of the group cheering.

"Bring us back something nice!" Jake called down. Carl gave him the finger.

The pier was solid concrete beneath their feet. It was wider than Carl had thought when he'd been standing on the ship's deck. Along the pier, Carl could see that a few of the lurkers were stirring, turning dead eyes in their direction. Most of them were still pretty far, the sound of the waves drowning out their moans. Carl kept the knife in his hand. It would be pretty embarrassing if he came back with it still sparkling clean, he thought.

Castiel looked at the approaching walkers with narrowed eyes. "Stay behind me."

"Yeah, sure, I'll watch your six," Carl said under his breath, falling into step behind the angel.

"My six what?" Castiel glanced over his shoulder.

"...Nothing."

There was a warehouse at the end of the docking area, its rolling gate sealed shut with a rusting padlock. Castiel drove his blade through the skulls of two approaching walkers, then knocked twice on the warehouse gate, cocking his head as if to listen for an answering moan.

Castiel gave Carl a brisk nod. "There's only one inside. Be ready."

The padlock came apart easily in Castiel's hand. The warehouse had an open sea access on its other side and a bunch of loading equipment, but not much else besides. They found the walker at the back of the warehouse, a frail-looking thing in a ratty jumpsuit. It was handcuffed to something that looked a bit like a large radiator. Whoever the guy used to be, his death hadn't been easy - there were fingernail-shaped gouges on the ground, ending a couple of feet away from a set of discarded keys.

"D'you think he got bit?" Carl wondered.

The walker gave a rasping cry when it saw them, making grasping motions with its free hand. There was a sickening creak of breaking bones and then the walker lurched forward, suddenly free. It let out a long groan as it made its way to them, the palm of one hand hanging limply from its wrist.

In stark contrast to his earlier behavior, Castiel didn't make a move on the walker. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, weirdly looking a bit like Claire did when she had done the same earlier. He raised an expectant eyebrow at Carl.

Carl took one step toward the walker, sidestepped it before it could touch him, then drove his large knife through its fragile skull. It dropped lifelessly to Carl's feet. Carl turned to Castiel with what he hoped was blank expression, strutting his chin.

"Good," Castiel said with a nod. Then he asked, "do you smell gasoline?"

They found two gas jerrycans not far away from where the walker had been. Apparently, whoever left it behind managed to forget their fuel as well. Castiel sniffed at the jerrycans' contents, declaring that the gas was still good. They left the containers by the warehouse entrance, to be collected on the return trip.

"It's weird, though," Carl said a short time later as they made their way down to the shore. "I've got this friend, Eugene, he's the smartest guy I know. I mean, book smart." Carl tripped an approaching walker, then quickly stabbed it in the back of the head. "He told me that all the gas should've gone bad in, like, a year. But it's been what, four already?"

"It's a miracle," Castiel said.

"Right?" Carl gestured with his knife. "It's the weirdest thing."

"No, I mean that it is, quite literally, a miracle."

"Wait, what?"

Castiel said matter-of-factly. "It happened before. Well, not _exactly_ like this, and not on this scale, of course." Castiel seemed surprised at Carl's befuddled expression. "You didn't realize? I thought Hanukkah was one of the more well-known Jewish holidays."

"Um, that's the one with the candles, right?"

Castiel brutally beheaded two walkers as he explained. "Well, the Israelites used oil. They were very upset to nearly run out of it, actually. Really, they were quite sad." He flickered his blade, which gleamed clean again, like the gore couldn't stick to it. "My brothers and I were very surprised when the little can of oil lasted for a full eight days. By then, God rarely answered any more prayers."

"So the gas lasts because of _God_?"

Castiel looked away. "I'd hoped…" he started to say, then shook his head. "Perhaps. It doesn't matter. Come on, we're nearly at the shore."

Between the walkers and the warehouse visit, it took them nearly an hour to clear the pier. They found a checkpoint of some sort, close to the end. A little Honda had been left there to rust. From the look of it, its tires had blown when someone tried to back it over the security rods on the ground.

"I don't think we can fix it up," Carl said after giving it a quick once-over under the hood. Newer car models were next to impossible to salvage.

"I want to try something. Shut your eyes," Castiel said and put a hand on Carl's arm, physically steering him away. Castiel placed two fingers on the car's battery, then glanced over his shoulder in order to repeat, "shut your eyes."

There was a flashbang behind Carl's closed eyelid. He heard a cry of pain from Castiel, and a loud crash. He opened his eye to find the car had been shoved with such force that it flew over the edge of the pier. It had crushed straight through the metal railings to land upside down in wet sand.

"What was _that_?" Carl turned to look at Castiel. The angel had fallen on his butt.

"That," said Castiel as he picked himself up, wearing a remarkably human expression of annoyed embarrassment, "stays between you and me."

A few walkers came shambling out of the woods, but not as many as they'd feared. The road that led away from the pier was mostly clear. They found the remains of another warehouse farther inland. Its roof had caved in, leaving a half raised structure behind.

"Hey, check it out," Carl said, pointing to a large white van.

The warehouse's parking lot was halfway full of old, rusting trucks. The white van stood apart. It had all the signs of a _recently_ abandoned vehicle; its windshield hadn't yet collected enough dust to completely hide its interior. Carl wondered if whoever left it tried to look for supplies inside the warehouse and never made it back out.

There were no walkers beyond the warehouse's fences, and none came crawling out of the ruins, so they made a beeline to the vehicle. It was a large courier van. An _old_ one, he noticed, suddenly hopeful. Carl tried the driver's door, finding it empty and with the key still in the ignition. He tried it, and of course, it didn't work, but the gas gauge showed it was halfway full and there were no obvious blood stains on the upholstery, which he considered a good sign. He pulled on the lever to pop open the hood.

Castiel let out a huff. "It's… different," he admitted.

Carl grinned. "Okay, move over a bit."

They got lucky. The battery hadn't been completely dead. They managed to give the van a jump start, with Castiel pushing it around the large lot and Carl at the driver's seat, his foot pressed to the clutch.

"Yes!" Carl drummed both hands on the wheel when the van finally started.

They let it run while they poked around the rest of the warehouse's grounds, not finding anything more useful. The sun was setting down by the time they made their way back to the ship, Castiel in the driver's seat (he did know how to drive, it turned out). They didn't forget to collect the gas cans on the way. They heard their group's cheers as they parked.

"Just in time," grinned Enid when Carl made his way up the ladder, thrusting a smelly toddler into his arms. "Judith needs a diaper change. _Again_."

"Would've been great if we actually had any," Carl grumbled. He accepted the pieces of cloth Enid handed him instead.

"It's on the list," Mikey told him cheerfully.

To their great pleasure, the ship still had hot water. They knew it might be a long while before they'd enjoy a hot shower again. After, they made sure they had everything prepared for the journey. Mikey ended up being the one to help Castiel count the canned food, which they'd packed into two very large duffel bags.

"Hey Cas," Carl heard Claire say just before they were ready to clonk out. She was holding a trench coat in her hands, holding it up for Castiel to look at. It was dark blue, nearly black, and about knee length. "Found it with the captain's stuff. What do you think?"

Castiel, who had changed into clean clothes but was still wearing the torn-up tan trench coat he'd been wearing all day, seemed touched. He accepted the new coat, holding it up very carefully.

"You don't have to keep wearing dad's old coat, you know," Claire said. "Mom always hated that thing."

Castiel didn't seem to know what to say. He looked at Claire with a soft expression.

She waved him away. "Go! Put it on." She turned to Carl next, or actually, to Judith, who was sitting in his lap, cuddling up to him like she always did when she was sleepy. "And this is for you," she said and put a captain's cap on top of Judith's head. "Aww."

Judith, of course, pulled it off a second later. She kept holding on to it, though, even as she fell asleep, which earned her another heartfelt "aww" from Claire.

That night they carried blankets and pillows to the navigation bridge, settling down in one space like they did in Heaven. Castiel, they found, didn't need to sleep.

They loaded their supplies into the van early the next morning, managing to clear up more space for themselves in the back by securing the two large and canned-food-heavy duffel bags to the roof. It still wouldn't be the most comfortable of journeys: the backspace didn't have any seats or windows. They made up for it by loading it with blankets and pillows. Luckily, there was no partition between the front and the back of the van.

"I'm in charge of the maps," Jake explained from the passenger seat. "Also, I called shotgun."

"You did not," Scott grumbled, settling down at the back between the gas cans and a squirming Oliver. "Kiddo, settle down, we didn't even take off yet."

"Called it earlier, not my fault you weren't listening," Jake replied. He poked his head out of the window to ask, "hey, where's Cas?"

Carl, who was standing by the passenger door (he didn't manage to beat Jake's dash to the shotgun position), saw that Castiel was standing at the edge of the pier, eyes closed. He didn't have his hands clasped together or anything but Carl still had the impression that he was praying. A moment later, Castiel opened his eyes and walked back to the van, his new coat billowing behind him.

"Have a safe journey," Castiel said as he sat down in the driver's seat.

And then they were on their way.


	14. Bad Company

It was another clear and sunny day. Rick woke up to the sound of birds and to an empty bed.

Michonne, for once, had spent the night in Alexandria. Rick suspected that his exhausted face was the only reason she showed up at all, let alone stayed longer than the time it took for her to resupply. He usually managed to catch sight of her slipping out of the house, Carl's hat pulled low over her eyes. Rick never tried to stop her; he knew he couldn't, but he wanted to, desperately. Even the deafening silence between them was better than an empty house.

That morning, she'd taken the sniper rifle from the fireplace. She didn't look up at him when she walked out, the rifle hanging from her shoulder. She wouldn't be out looking for Carl and Judith today, Rick realized.

The Saviors' visit loomed over all of their heads. They've put aside half of their supplies; it wasn't a lot. The food they managed to acquire from the Hilltop community was already running low, and now they needed to tighten their rations even more.

As it turned out, the Saviors decided to show up for their so-called dues a full day early.

Rick was alerted about their incoming visitors by Aaron, who had been on watchtower duty. He didn't need to have bothered; they could all hear the rumble of the approaching vehicles. More than likely, walkers had been drawn to the sound too.

Negan himself was standing behind the gate. Rick was more than a little surprised; he hadn't gotten the impression that Negan often humbled himself to join the Saviors on their raids. The man greeted Rick with a friendly smile, dimples and all, but Rick remembered all too well how he'd beat both Abraham and Glenn to death wearing that same grin.

"Do not make me have to ask," Negan warned when Rick didn't immediately move to open the gate.

"You said a week," Rick said. "You're early." Nevertheless, Rick gritted his teeth and pulled the gate aside. It creaked heavily.

"I missed you," Negan offered as a way of explanation, eyes crinkling with an easy smile.

The walker that came stumbling from between the trucks was a laughable threat. It came straight at them, making that guttural noise that walkers made when they'd spotted food. Negan greeted it with the same enthusiasm as he'd greeted Rick earlier. He made sure Rick was watching when he bashed its head in with a single strike from his barbed bat, rendering it truly and finally dead.

"Did I just take care of one of those dead pricks that could've killed one of y'all?" Negan then proceeded to air out his grievances. Acting as if he had done them a great favor. As if they needed his so-called protection. His so-called _service_.

He handed Rick his bloodied bat and gestured for his people to move ahead with the process.

Reluctantly, Rick followed Negan into his community, his home, carrying Negan's bat around like a servant, barbs dripping walker-blood onto the sidewalk. The Saviors didn't waste any time invading people's space, demanding they empty their pockets and their homes. For all their cheap thuggish behavior, they were incredibly in sync with one another. And they completely ignored the neat piles of food Rick and his people had put aside for them.

"By the way," Negan said as he surveyed his people at work. "Any luck finding your kids?"

Rick felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. "No."

Negan grimaced sympathetically. "Yeah, same on our side." Rick didn't know what expression passed over his face then, but Negan didn't seem to like it. "Beg your fucking pardon, Rick. Is that skepticism I detect? _I told you_ , the boys are keeping a lookout for your goddamn kids. My word is my fucking bond."

He stepped closer, enough that Rick could feel his breath. "Maybe we're not doing enough, Rick, is that it?"

A memory came to Rick's mind, unbidden. When Carl had been a young boy, he'd gotten into a fight with another boy at school. It was bad enough that the teacher had to pull them apart, and Rick and Lori were called in to meet with the principal. It didn't matter that the other boy had been picking on Carl for weeks (which Rick had only then realized, much to his shame), Carl had thrown the first punch, and he'd ended up suspended for two days as a result.

Later, Carl had asked Rick what he should've done instead. The other boy, whose name Rick couldn't recall, had been older and much larger than Carl had been back then. (Rick did remember that, as a deputy, he'd been called to the boy's house on several occasions due to "domestic disturbances"). Rick had put his hands on Carl's shoulders and told him that next time he should count to ten.

Years later, Rick tried to follow his own advice. The bat's weight was ever so tempting in his hand. It was not the counting, but the sound of Anna's, his elderly neighbor's, soft crying that finally prompted Rick to say, "no."

"No?"

"No, you're... doing enough," Rick gritted out, resolutely looking at his feet.

"Don't you mention it," Negan said with an _aw shucks_ tone of voice, thumping Rick's shoulder. He finally took a step out of Rick's personal bubble. "How'd you manage to lose them anyway? What, they run away or something? You must feel like a piece of shit."

"No," Rick said hoarsely. "They didn't… they didn't run. My daughter is just two. We woke up one morning and they were gone."

"Did you notice any weird smells?" Negan asked after a long pause. Rick looked up to see Negan was staring at him with narrowed eyes.

"What?"

Negan gave him a hard, searching look. "Sulfur. Smells like rotten eggs." He seemed to consider Rick's confused expression as a _no_ , because he went on to asking, "what about cold spots in the house? Any strange substances? Markings of any kind?"

Rick thought back to that awful day. "No… no. Nothing like that."

"Huh, how about that," Negan said mostly to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, he turned back to Rick, giving him an almost sheepish look. "Sorry, I'm drawing a blank." He grinned suddenly, all teeth. "Hey, you got any family photos?"

A short time later, Rick came out of his house holding a framed photograph of Carl and Judith. "It's recent," he said with a voice full of gravel. The polaroid was grainy and overexposed, but Carl was smiling even with the bandage on his face, and Rick, who had been off-frame pulling silly faces, managed to get Judith to smile too. Michonne snapped the photo just a few weeks past, a lifetime ago.

He couldn't bring himself to hand it over until Negan coughed, holding out a hand expectantly. Negan made a show of fumbling with the frame. It hit the ground, harder than it should have from such a simple drop, its glass shattering.

"Oh, how clumsy of me," Negan said with an exaggerated sigh. He pointed to his feet, all but leering. "Pick that up, Rick, would you?"

Rick went down on one knee, head bowed. He could feel the burning gazes of all the people around them, Saviors and Alexandrians alike, but couldn't bring himself to look back at them. He didn't realize his hands were shaking until he felt the sting of the glass shards and heard Negan's sharp bark that he'd better not get any of his blood on (the already bloodied) Lucille. He pulled the delicate photo from the frame and handed it over to Negan, climbing back up to his feet.

"Oh, would you look at this little angel," Negan cooed when he saw Judith. He turned the polaroid around so Rick could see too. As if Rick hadn't been staring at it every damn night. "Adorable," Negan said. Then he gestured for one of his men to approach. "Pass that around. I want everyone to get a good look at it." The grim-faced man nodded, taking the photograph.

"Don't," Rick called before he could stop himself.

Negan stepped into Rick's path before he could go after the guy. "Relax," he said with a grin. It reminded Rick of a shark. "Like I said, _service_. You'll get it back when we're done."

Negan stepped back with another good thump to Rick's shoulder, making a show of looking around. "Say, whatever happened to that sick girl?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, sorry. I find it really difficult to weave around canon scenes. I have zero interest in repeating the actual scenes word for word, by the way. Except for the detailed divergences, you can imagine everything else taking place exactly as in canon.
> 
> By the way, the photograph is the one we've seen in ep 6.10. You can google it, it's really sweet.


	15. Livin' on a Prayer

Daliah's family had set up camp in a little hotel southwest from their original position. At least that was what Castiel saw in her mind. It was less than sixty miles from the ship, but it might as well have been six hundred. In a good day, they would have reached their destination in a matter of hours at the most. Unfortunately, they'd encountered a few setbacks that had stretched several hours into several days.

The worst setback was the herds. There were _a lot_ of them, large and small. Even Castiel wasn't keen on fighting the dead in large numbers, and by Carl's reckoning, the guy could probably take down walkers in his sleep (if he ever slept, that is). They found out the hard way that it didn't matter how physically strong someone was: a large number of walkers could and _would_ get past them.

Carl had to admit that they probably wouldn't have survived long without Cas, not in this environment. Their group wasn't the most battle-ready even if they didn't have the younger kids to worry about. Carl got by well enough and Jake was a six-foot _beast_ with a crowbar, but that was about it. Claire was injured and out of practice, Mikey never had much to begin with and Enid had always survived through stealth and avoidance. Scott relied too much on his brother.

"I'm better with a gun," Scott had explained after seven consecutive strikes finally brought the walker down. In spite of his dark complexion, Scott visibly blushed.

"You won't always have a gun," Castiel told him frankly. He had watched Scott with the same critical once-over he'd given Carl in the warehouse. He killed off the last walker and then said, with a decisive nod, "you'll practice."

Apparently, that meant all of them. They had their first training session in a secluded little spot on top of a hill. Claire hummed the Mulan training song the entire time.

It was kind of fun, in Carl's opinion, even if none of them actually managed to land a hit on Castiel (in fairness to them, walkers were much slower). The class ended when the three younger kids rushed at Castiel, all at once, and managed to knock him down (in fairness to _him_ , he probably let them). Judith then waddled over and plopped down on top of their human(ish) pile. That, along with Cas' bewildered expression, had set Carl laughing for a solid minute.

While they ate canned beans and vegetables (and Castiel didn't, because apparently, that was another thing he didn't do) they decided to try and hide from the approaching herds instead of running from them. Avoiding them entirely was next to impossible - there were simply too many walkers.

Castiel could hear a herd coming (walkers were _loud_ ) in time for them to stop the van, cover the windshield and windows, and hide until it passed them by. Then they needed to wait some more until the walkers were far enough to not to be drawn back by the van's loud engine.

It wasn't the most pleasant experience. Daliah and Annabelle looked frustrated but they knew better than to make a sound. Oliver, the adorable creepy kid that he was, just plopped down in Claire's lap and immediately fell asleep. Carl ended up only having to worry about Judith, who could easily start crying and give away their presence.

His fear was almost realized when he saw her looking up at him with that all too familiar pre-tantrum look. She opened her mouth, ready to let loose, when Castiel put a finger on her forehead. She instantly calmed down, mouth snapping shut. She looked at Carl and Castiel both with wide, wet eyes.

"What did you do?" Carl hissed, barely audibly.

Castiel looked at him sadly. "Explained."

If they got lucky, they managed to wait out a herd inside an abandoned house instead of the cramped back of the van. They found a Trivia Pursuit cardboard game in one such house, which led them to two important discoveries: one, the answer to the question "which state has the highest population density in the USA?" was the state they were traveling in _right now_. Two, Cas really sucked at Trivia Pursuit.

Their second setback was that all the roads were _heavily_ jammed. The van, bless its gas guzzling heart, was not exactly an all-terrain vehicle. They avoided the highways as much they could, but the side roads were almost as bad, as the many people who had tried to escape the cities had undoubtedly discovered.

Most of those roads were now graveyards to rusting, desolate automobiles, and actual graveyards to the many occupants who'd died inside of them. Somehow those poor dead bastards were still scratching at the windows in their attempts to get at the living. They stared at them with empty eye sockets, eyeballs melted off long ago, their blackened skin peeling away with every jerky movement. And the smell…

"Missing balloon-man yet?" Claire said to Enid from the van's driver's seat.

"Apples and oranges," Enid replied from her perch on top of the _slowly_ moving van. She then called out, "on my right, coming around the red convertible."

"It's pink," said Jake, who was the closest. He tripped the walker with his crowbar before braining it, then gave the definitely _red_ convertible a once-over. "This one's tapped-out, too."

There was one foolproof way of finding out if a car had already been siphoned: no survivor ever bothered putting the gas cap back on.

"Keep looking," Carl told him from the other side of the road. All the cars on his side had been sucked dry as well. They were running low on fuel thanks to all the detours they had to make (third setback: collapsed bridges).

"Yeah, yeah." Jake gave a limp handed salute.

They had a routine for traffic jams, too. Castiel was at the front of their odd little team, using his considerable strength to make a path, sometimes even tipping cars on their sides. The guys stayed close to him: Carl and Mikey were checking the cars on the left for fuel and supplies, and the twins did the same for the ones on the right. Enid acted as a lookout while Claire slowly inched the van down the cleared lane.

If their outdated map was to be trusted, they were about to pass by a thumbnail-sized town by the name of Clansworth. They usually got a clean stretch of road once they got away from what used to be a populated area. At last, they made it to the end of the traffic jam. Claire parked the van, tapping the metal outside her window to let Enid know she could come down.

"What's the haul?" Enid asked when her feet hit the ground.

Scott shook the gas jerrycan, the rattling giving away that it more empty than full. "Not much, somebody already sucked this place dry."

"Same," Carl said. He didn't like the idea of moving ahead on foot. The van offered a safety barrier for the younger kids. Plus, they'd have to carry Judith, who wasn't a tiny baby anymore (and didn't always like being carried).

Claire stuck her head out the driver's side window. "Might mean there are people nearby. We're not that far away from Daliah's place." She turned to Cas to ask, "can't you, like, spidey-sense if anybody's alive out here?"

"No. I'm not a bloodhound," Castiel replied, not even bothering to ask what a spidey-sense was (and really, Claire was just doing it on purpose). Carl wondered if that meant he was getting worried.

"As long as we don't have to make another detour, we should have enough to make it to Daliah's camp, right?" Carl asked. "Let's hope they'll be grateful enough to gas us up. Shut up, Jake," he added when the other boy opened his mouth to make an undoubtedly dumb joke about passing gas.

Their luck seemed to be looking up. The clear stretch lasted longer than they thought it would. It was hard to see much beyond the hilly roads, but the brake was still sudden enough to send them all scrambling on the van's floor.

"Sorry guys," Claire said sheepishly. She put the van in parking. "Take a look at this."

They all got out. Up ahead they could see why the last stretch of road had been so open. There was a long line of cars, parked in parallel across the road and well beyond the shoulders. The row of cars created something of a barrier, not enough to stop a herd, but enough to slow it down for sure. As it was, there were no pile-ups of undead trying to get past the barrier. The community was far enough away to be out of ear and eyeshot of the walkers. Up in the distance, they could see traps as well, barb wire stretched between two poles, wooden beams aimed to skewer any unlucky walker, trenches dug in the ground.

"That must've taken them a while to set in place," Enid said after a slow whistle. She looked down at Daliah, brows furrowed. "I thought Cas only saw your family. How many people do you have there?"

Daliah, of course, didn't reply.

There was a sign next to the road, one that said. "McLaren Township, 3 miles". And underneath it, in handwriting, "Safe Zone".

"Those who arrive survive," Carl recited quietly, remembering the message that brought him and his group to Terminus, the cannibals' community. Strange how people and _things_ kept trying to eat him. "How do we know we can trust them?" Carl asked, all too aware of Judith's weight in his arms. He looked at Daliah as well, "it's gotta be your group, right?"

Jake sighed. "She doesn't understand you."

"Yes, she does," Castiel said all of a sudden.

Daliah seemed to freeze. Castiel gently took her hand, leading her a few steps away to give her a bit of breathing room. She wasn't a tall girl by any definition, but he still needed to look up when he knelt down in front of her. It wasn't unusual behavior, Castiel had been the only one who could speak her language, except that this time, he spoke English.

"I understand," Castiel said, looking at the girl levelly. "You're cautious. I imagine many people haven't been very careful in their speech around you before." He waited a moment to allow her to respond, and when she didn't, he continued, "you've allowed me into your mind, that speaks of trust. You know _we_ are not your enemies. Will we find any enemies beyond this point?"

Daliah's lower lip trembled. "No." Finally, she spoke, shaking her head. "The soldiers will recognize me. They won't hurt you," she said in perfectly accented English, then sniffled. "Sorry. I'm sorry, it's just what I'm supposed to do. My mom runs the hotel in town, it's where they put all the new people at first. We're not supposed to speak English there. Sometimes that's how we find out if somebody's bad."

"It's the whole town? How many people do you have?" Enid repeated the question.

"I don't know. A lot. There are a lot of soldiers, like my dad, but lots of families too. Kids started disappearing a few months ago, and then I woke up in _Gan Eden_ , but they weren't there anymore." She looked at Claire. "Ellie and Josh and… and Maria. Do you remember them?"

"Yeah," Claire said sadly. "They didn't make it."

"I'm the only one left," she said, her eyes wide. "Do you think their families will be angry with me?"

"Oh, sweetie, no," Claire said.

"You must never blame yourself for surviving," Castiel told her gently. Then he cocked his head, staring at the hill where the safe zone was. He stood up, brushing the dirt from his knees, and took Daliah's hand in his.

"They know we're here," Castiel told them.


	16. Such a Lovely Place

"Who the hell called for a unit?"

"This is Whiskey-Oh-Two. Motion sensor went off at 537 north, over."

"Fucking A. We're sending a car."

"Copy that, Jailbird. Whiskey-Oh-Two standby ten."

"Cool it, Wazowski. Zack ain't listening to the damn radio. _Over_."

* * *

 

Listening to soldiers' transmissions was a lot like listening to his siblings' bickering over Angel Radio, even though the angels were rarely as polite. _Angel Radio_ , of course, was a name _Dean_ had come up with several years ago and Castiel had subsequently adopted. Somehow, it became common slang among the angels who, to his amusement, were unaware of its origin.

Not that he _could_ hear much, these days. Not since Earth fell and Heaven closed its gates while he and Dean had still been in Purgatory. From time to time he overheard snippets of song or conversation, but they were faint and fleeting, coming through whatever crack in the gates that had allowed him to absorb small amounts of power while he remained on Earth.

There was a single upside to Tlaloc clipping his wings. The damage, although temporary, also hurt his ability to absorb more energy from Heaven. The sigils that amplified his recharging over the past year had cracked his grace, made it fragile like fine glass. Had he been absorbing more power without the sigils to contain him, his grace would have imploded. It was fractured and brittle, yes, but at least it was whole.

Drawing on his more _extravagant_ abilities was painful, not to mention _dangerous_ , often leaving him grasping for control. Fortunately, he was able to channel some residual power into the vessel, making it stronger than a normal human's, its senses sharper. Even his Jedi Skills, as Enid had called them, were simply part of the human normal condition, although heightened beyond the standard spectrum (really, what did they think psychics _were_?)

His heightened hearing was a very useful ability, he'd found, although it did require his concentration. They didn't have to wait long for the soldiers to arrive; a large vehicle came quickly into view, moving down the hill in their direction. Castiel extended his hearing to pick up on the soldiers' conversation once he knew they'd been spotted. To his relief, it wasn't immediately antagonistic.

("O _h hell, they've got kids_ " and " _are we really gonna send them away?_ " and " _too many damn mouths to feed as is_ ").

The soldiers spilled out the open back of the vehicle when it came to a stop a short distance from the barrier. They were all dressed similarly: patterned, loose fitted trousers with boots, some in just plain t-shirts while others wore jackets made of the same patterned fabric. All of them carried rifles. None of the weapons were currently aimed at them, but that was something that could change in moment's notice.

There was a short, tense silence while the two groups studied one another from across the barrier. The uniformed soldiers on one side, Castiel and the children on the other.

"Well, you're not Zack," said one soldier, her eyebrows raised.

"My name is Castiel." He acknowledged her statement with a nod. Privately, he thought that referring to the undead as a single entity was odd, but not entirely inaccurate, considering the creatures' singular state of mind and herding tendencies.

The woman was smaller in stature than her companions but without a doubt the highest ranking soldier there. According to the print on her uniform, her name was _Rodriguez_ , but Castiel supposed that could be her rank as well. Humanity's approach to organized fighting had been wide and varied throughout the years and across the regions, he'd found. For a species with no natural predatory attributes, they'd always been surprisingly aggressive.

Rodriguez's expression was cool. "And what brings you our way, Castiel?"

"She did." Castiel tugged gently on Daliah's hand. She'd inexplicably hidden behind him. The expression on Rodriguez's face wavered when Daliah stepped into her line of sight.

"Holy shit," said one of the soldiers. "Isn't that Isaac's kid?"

(Castiel was becoming better at reading facial expressions, but sometimes nuances were lost on him. Later, he would berate himself for not recognizing that the soldiers' disbelieving expressions were also laden with sorrow.)

Rodriguez's command to "stand down" sounded more like a warning, and not just to her soldiers. She crossed the barrier with a practiced leap, coming to stand in front of Castiel and Daliah. Taking the girl's shoulder, she took a moment to study her, as if to make sure she was not a changeling or anything of the sort.

"Are you okay?" Rodriguez asked.

Daliah nodded, not letting go of Castiel's hand.

Rodriguez turned her gaze to the rest of the children in the group, lingering on Claire and Carl who were both obviously injured. She looked them over once, twice, three times before finally asking in a tense voice, "You brought anyone else with you?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said simply. "There's no one else."

Her stern expression crumbled for a second. Then she nodded and said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Okay. Kid, let's go. The rest of you, too. We've got doctors to look you over."

At Rodriguez's prompting ("leave the pedo van, no one's coming this way but Zack") they squeezed into the back of the soldiers' vehicle. It was large enough to accommodate all of them, although some (Castiel included) had to be seated cross-legged on the floor.

Rodriguez was in the passenger's seat, using the radio. It was noisy where Castiel and the children were seated, the netted fabric over the heads was doing nothing to block out the wind and the noise from the engine. Rodriguez's voice was low enough that Castiel knew they were not meant to overhear her.

(" _Tell General Ulysses we're bringing new people in. I_ know _what he said, but they've got Isaac's daughter with them._ ")

"Cool jeep," Jake called over the noise, drawing Castiel's attention. He'd commandeered a spot on the bench, his knees bracing his brother's back. "Your engine's knocking, though."

"She's had a tough run." A soldier who'd identified himself as Rollins patted one of the jeep's rails. "How the hell d'you make it here in that big ass van, anyway? Roads are supposed to be jammed all the way to NYC."

"They were," Jake said smugly. "We cleared them."

"Bullshit," Rollins replied. Castiel tuned out the rest of their argument.

As the vehicle approached the settlement, Castiel realized there was an unusual scent in the air. He needed a moment to discern what it was. The hill was patched foliage, wild grass becoming yellow from drought. The town itself was surrounded by another barrier; tall walls constructed with seemingly every type of hard material they had been able to get their hands on. There were makeshift watchtowers as well, not too far apart from each other, manned by more soldiers.

"So, you're making 'rounds to bring these kids to their homes? Awfully kind of you." It took Castiel a moment to realize that the blond man who'd been sitting next to him was, in fact, addressing him.

"Yes?" he said, unsure of the correct response. He knew the words were anything but appreciative.

"Hill," one of the soldiers addressed the blond man. "Leave it to the general."

The tall gates were opening in anticipation of their arrival. Daliah was practically hanging from the side of the jeep. Claire was hanging on to one of her arms, worried expression on her face, afraid the girl would leap out of the moving vehicle. Quite a few people came pouring through the gates. Some of them were dressed in uniform, but most of them were not. In fact, the soldiers were making a half-hearted attempt to keep the crowd inside.

Castiel couldn't see Daliah's parents among their numbers. He knew their likeness, as after all he had manifested their presence when he'd absorbed her soul, and he had seen them quite clearly afterward when she'd allowed him to look in her mind.

"Where's my mom and dad?" Daliah wondered, trying and failing to meet the soldiers' eyes. "Didn't you tell them I was coming?"

At their lack of response, the realization finally dawned on Castiel. He was a coward, for he turned down his senses, dreading the event that would surely follow.

The vehicle came to a stop in front of the gates. Claire let go of Daliah, and in a split second, she was gone, crashing into the arms of a young woman. She looked similar enough in color and facial structure to be Daliah's relative; a sister or a cousin, perhaps. No one else carried the same similarity, much to Castiel's dismay. The family he'd seen in Daliah's memories had been at least twenty souls strong.

Following the soldiers, Castiel stepped out of the jeep, coming to stand at a respectable distance. The remaining children clustered around him, quietly watching the unfolding reunion. Claire took his hand in hers, squeezing lightly.

Daliah repeated her earlier question. The older girl's face was lined with tears when she replied in a voice too soft to hear. As it turned out, the normal human hearing range was more than enough to pick up on Daliah's response of grief-stricken crying.

"Oh no, oh no," Claire was murmuring. "What happened?"

"We sent out search parties for the missing kids," Rodriguez's voice seemed to be unnaturally steady. "Plenty of civilians volunteered, didn't really give us a choice." She sighed. "Used to be, that family was the biggest one in town. Now look at those two."

The two girls held each other tightly, bodies trembling in shared grief. Several people from the crowd tried to draw them elsewhere, laying comforting hands on their shoulders. The girls didn't budge.

Then, something unexpected happened. A tall, sandy-haired man broke out of the crowd. His eyes were wild as he ran straight toward them, calling out for-

"Daddy?" Annabelle cried out.

She met the man halfway, jumping into his arms and knocking them both to the ground. Neither seemed to care as they clung to one another, openly sobbing.

" _Qué día_ ," Rodriguez breathed, shaking her head.

Castiel looked at Rodriguez questioningly.

"We picked up Marv a couple of months back, same day we lost Isaac and his wife," she explained. "Said his camp got overrun, all gone but him. Man was half dead when we found him." She continued to watch the father-daughter reunion, adding, "Damn lucky."

Castiel wasn't sure if he agreed or not.

 


	17. Breaking Bread

The topic was broached on the first night of their journey. They had spent the better part of the day getting past a large herd, and most of the evening diverting it in the opposite direction. Then they settled down for the night at a clearing in the woods. After they ate, the younger children - Judith, Oliver, Daliah and Annabelle - were sent to sleep in the back of the van, while the teenagers (and Castiel) stayed up by the campfire.

As they sat by the dwindling fire, the teenagers argued on how much, if at all, they should say on the topic of their abduction. They knew, of course, that people would want to know where they've been all this time. Some of them had left families and friends behind, people who likely had been hurt by their disappearance. Castiel had suggested that they simply tell the truth. For reasons unbeknown to him, a few of them expressed reluctance to do so. Claire, to Castiel's surprise, was the biggest advocate for censorship.

The fire had gone out by the time they came to a decision: they _would_ tell the truth. From a certain point of view. The truth was: they were kidnapped by a madman. They killed the madman. They freed Castiel. They made their way home.

"And if that's not enough," said Enid, jabbing at the remains of the fire with a long stick, "There's always Plan B."

"We don't need a Plan B," Claire insisted.

"Come on, Claire." Enid let out a sigh, annoyed by the long debate. "Why is it such an issue? Monsters have been real for years. People aren't going to lose their minds if they find out there's, like, a variety."

"Enid's got a point," Carl said. He threw some dried leaves on the embers, watching as they crumbled away. "Besides, without a Plan B, Plan A is just _a_ plan."

Plan B was, of course, to tell the truth. The _whole_ truth.

They were kidnapped by a madman (an ancient pagan god). They killed the madman (with a holy blade). They freed Castiel (an angel of the Lord). They made their way home (with said angel, their protector and sometimes driver).

"It sounds like crazy talk," Mikey muttered.

"Who cares?" Enid pointed toward the van. "It's going to come out sooner or later. What if one the kids blabs?"

"I won't tell!" Oliver's petulant voice carried over.

"You'd better not wake my sister, Ollie," Carl called in the boy's direction. "Go back to sleep." To the rest of them, he said, "What's the problem when we've got proof? Cas has, like, super powers." He threw up a hand in excitement. "He could lift the van!"

Mikey snorted. "Yeah! And _then_ they'll think he's on something! Ever seen how strong somebody gets in a 'roid rage?"

"Have _you_?" Claire asked Mikey in disbelief.

Mikey's shoulders squared defensively. "What? You don't know where I've been."

"What's a roid?" Castiel had gotten lost in the conversation. "Is that some kind of a potion?"

" _No one_ is going to think _Cas_ is on steroids, man. Have you _seen_ him?" Carl looked incredulous. Then his face whipped toward Castiel and he added, sheepishly, "No offense."

"None taken, I think."

Jake sighed loudly. He was lying on the ground, arms pillowing his head, and so far hadn't shown a decisive opinion. "You guys are overthinking this. Just flash 'em if it comes down to it, Cas."

"Dude," Scott gasped. He punched his brother's arm, who yelped in response.

Jake sat up, rubbing his arm. " _A wing_. I meant flash them _a wing_ ," he spluttered. "Jesus Christ."

" _Dude!_ "

"Was that innuendo?" Castiel wondered. "That's very inappropriate, Jake."

"Nobody's flashing anybody. _Just stick to Plan A_ ," Claire snapped, glaring at each of them in turn until they all looked suitably cowed.

Several days later, when they had reached McLaren, and before the soldiers came to collect them at the outer barrier, Claire had repeated the very same thing to all of them. Later, when she hugged both Annabelle and Daliah and promised that they wouldn't leave before saying goodbye, she also told them to remember what they had talked about.

The exchange didn't escape Rodriguez's attention. She had been trying to urge them back into the vehicle, telling them, "The girls can go with their families. The rest of you will be staying at the base." Rodriguez added, "You'll get a chance to rest and have a meal that's not expired, for once."

"And we'll meet your superior, of course," Castiel supplied.

The rest of the children had been reluctant to leave the two young girls behind, even with their families. They only climbed back into the jeep at Castiel's encouraging nod. He didn't miss the angry huff Rodriguez let out at that. She said nothing, but this time she joined them at the back of the jeep, sending one of her subordinates to sit at the front instead.

McLaren turned out to be a much larger community than any Castiel had seen since the outbreak. Outwardly, it appeared to be flourishing. It seemed they had a working electricity grid, access to a water supply, and enough fuel to have people driving their vehicles even inside the walls. On the other hand, many looked thin and tired, townspeople and soldiers alike.

Castiel had noticed a strange scent on their arrival. Inside the walls, he noticed another one. A cloying, too sweet scent. Rotten produce, he suspected. The crops fields they passed had too many empty patches and too many dark leaves. As if they had been struck with blight. No doubt, McLaren had exhausted all scavenging opportunities nearby, and now they were attempting to grow food on their own. And by all appearances, they were struggling.

Castiel wasn't the only one to take notice.

"Those apple trees are way too close together," Carl said, off-handedly, as they passed the small orchard. "It's going to destroy their roots."

A few minutes later they arrived at the military base. It was a closed off area, with sturdy looking fences that were too well put together to have been placed there after the outbreak. Rollins, the soldier who had chatted so amiably with Jake before, was all too happy to tell them all about the community's history.

"We've expanded _a lot_ since the beginning. Actually, it started out with just the base," Rollins told them when they parked. He and a few other soldiers escorted them into one of the buildings. "Way it was, we took in any decent people who'd shown up. Pshh, now? Now we can barely feed the ones we got…" He trailed off when his commander gave him a smoldering glare.

They were led up the stairs and into what the soldiers called "the rec room". By Rodriguez's orders, one of the soldiers stayed with them - the young blond one who had glared at Castiel throughout the entire drive over. He didn't say anything to them, just stayed standing by the door. The room itself was furnished with a threadbare couch, a few sitting areas, a large television, and shelves with stacks of well-used board games (Castiel eyed the familiar Trivia Pursuit with interest. He had found it quite educational before).

Rodriguez had been true to her word. A few minutes past their arrival, someone came by with a cardboard box filled with food and water. It surprised him that they would be so generous, despite their obvious struggles. To Castiel's further surprise, the children had looked to him for approval before reaching for the meal. Then they happily tucked into the fresh food, all except for Claire, who sat down on the window sill next to Castiel, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"It's like we're under arrest," Claire muttered darkly, glaring at the soldier standing by the door.

Castiel sighed. "Claire, they haven't been unkind to us. Cautious, yes. As you would have been." He raised an eyebrow at her scowling face. "What are you doing back here? _Go_. Eat a vegetable."

She turned her glare to him. Unfazed, he stared her down until she gave up.

"Fine," Claire said, stomping her foot, and didn't return his answering smile (which was all right by him). The others dragged over a seat for her, which she accepted by flinging herself down with probably more attitude than such an action warranted. She picked up a peach from the box, only to toss it to the table in disgust. "Gross, there's a worm in it."

"Don't throw that away. It's great fertilizer," Carl said without looking up. He was busy trying to wrestle food into Judith who was shaking her head and smacking her lips at every morsel he offered.

Mikey asked in surprise, "How would you know?"

"We used to grow our own food at the prison," Carl replied. "Dad was really into it."

" _Your_ dad? _Rick Grimes_?" Mikey asked, mouth agape. "You're screwing with me."

"Nope. He was going through a pacifist phase," Carl said with a shrug.

A knock sounded at the door. Rodriguez stepped inside, followed by another woman who carried a small bag to one of the tables. Castiel assumed that she was the general he was supposed to meet. Then again, the woman didn't carry herself like the soldiers did, and she wasn't dressed like one, either. She wore a bright orange blouse and her graying hair was set loose around her shoulders.

"This is Dr. Ganguly," Rodriguez said, inclining her head at the older woman.

Castiel considered the unfamiliar woman. "You are a physician?" he asked. Come to think of it… he had no idea what human physicians actually did. He'd observed them in hospitals, a few too many times, in fact. Yet, in hospitals, they had all of those blinking machines, which he doubted fit into Dr. Ganguly's bag. There were also physicians in Dean's strange television show, where the doctors spent most of the time kissing, which… no, unlikely.

Dr. Ganguly smiled. "Among other things." She turned to the children and said, "General Ulysses asked me to make sure you guys are all okay. I'll also ask you some questions. If you're comfortable with that."

Castiel looked at the children for guidance. Claire was scowling. Judith was thoughtfully chewing on a cucumber. The rest appeared a bit baffled but otherwise didn't look as though they caught onto any threatening social cue that he himself had missed.

"And in the meantime..." Rodriguez held the door open and looked at Castiel.

"You'll interrogate him?" Claire shot, grabbing Castiel's wrist as he went past her. "Is waterboarding still a thing?"

"Claire-" he started to say. She dropped his wrist, still scowling.

So far, there was nothing about these people that stood out to him as a threat. Nevertheless, they obviously didn't trust _him_ , in particular, and he had learned that people who were afraid tended to react in strange ways. Perhaps with waterboarding, whatever that was. He could do his part in reassuring them. As far human allies went, they didn't seem half bad.

"They'll stay right here, correct?" Castiel looked at Rodriguez meaningfully, who nodded once in reply. "Then let's go see this commander of yours."


	18. The Two Generals

Castiel took in his surroundings. The office was spotlessly clean and meticulously organized. His eyes were drawn to the wide, gleaming wooden desk that stood beneath a tall window at the far end of the room. Everything was furnished in shades of brown and red, from the pleasantly worn leather sofas to the books that stood in impossibly even rows upon their shelves. Works of art adorned the walls; impressive graphite sketches alongside children's colorful scribbling, all framed and positioned in measured spaces.

General Ulysses was a tall man in his later years. Like his subordinates, he was dressed in a loose-fitting, patterned uniform. Unlike the other soldiers, there was a star pattern on his uniform's jacket and a wing-based insignia above his breast. He wore a distant expression, carrying himself with straight-back confidence and authority. His blue eyes shone with wary intelligence.

"General Ulysses, sir." Rodriguez greeted her general with a curious gesture - a hand to the temple, fingers held together. "This is -"

"Castiel, I've heard." The general gave him a long, hard look. "You got a last name, son?"

"Winchester," Castiel replied with hardly a pause. Helpfully, he added, "Like the rifle."

"Like the rifle," Ulysses repeated, his voice betraying no emotion.

The general had a very firm grip for a human. They shook hands for a very long time, statistically speaking. Well above average, in Castiel's opinion. Perhaps, he mused, theirs was a subculture that emphasized physical contact. Human social norms - so changeable.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed that Rodriguez's mouth was twitching.

He must have done something wrong because the general had dropped his hand abruptly. "Have a seat," Ulysses ordered, gesturing at his desk. "Lieutenant Rodriguez, give us some privacy."

"Your community is impressive. It looks like you're doing well for yourselves," said Castiel, sitting down in his appointed seat. He noticed, on some level, that the chair was a little short and just a bit flimsy, creaking under his weight. But then, in his true form, Castiel was larger than this building. Most man-sized things seemed too small to him.

"We try," said Ulysses, approaching the tall window behind his own seat. With a side-eye glance at Castiel, he drew back the blinds, letting the high noon sunlight pour into the room. The light beamed brightly in Castiel's eyes.

"Oh, thank you," Castiel said honestly. The weather was rather lovely outside.

The general looked at him strangely, contemplatively. He sat down in his own plush seat. Then, all of a sudden, his entire demeanor changed. A bit of tension lifted from his shoulders and a small smile graced his mouth. He looked like a kindly grandfather. Even his voice was softer when he said, "They tell me you came from up north. Must've been quite a journey, what with all the dead folks along the way. How did you manage to get past them?"

"Uh, quietly."

"Quietly? With a toddler?"

"Luckily," Castiel added with a fleeting smile.

"Hmm," Ulysses reclined in his seat. "Well, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?" he asked, chuckling at his own comment. Before Castiel could ask, he continued, "In my book, you deserve a hero's welcome. I hope my people have been treating you right, all in all."

Castiel inclined his head. "Yes, you have my gratitude for the fresh produce in particular." The chair wobbled when he leaned forward, lowering his voice in a secretive tone. "It occurred to me that, um, the children might not have had their nutritional needs fulfilled. Relying on preserved food as they were." When the general merely frowned at him in response, Castiel tried to clarify, "I've learned that such deficiency could stunt their growth. So, yes, I really must thank you. You've been very generous, considering your own situation is quite dire."

Ulysses let out a huff in surprise. All of a sudden, his kindly manner disappeared, as quickly as it had appeared. He sat up straight, asking "What makes you say that?"

"Well, a balanced diet _is_ a key factor in both the physical and mental development-"

"About our 'situation', wise guy."

Castiel looked at Ulysses in surprise. "I've seen your crops," he said. "You suffer from widespread blight. Pests as well, is that not correct?"

Ulysses gave him a long, searching look. Finally, he gave a tense nod. "Too many people living off of one land," he conceded. "We've got all sorts around these parts - doctors, engineers, teachers, you name it. Decent, hard working people, but not a single green thumb between them."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "You're not taking in new people, obviously. But surely you'll allow Annabelle and Daliah to remain with their families?" He relaxed at the general's nod. "You should know that one of my charges has had farming experience. He'll be happy to tell you what he knows before we depart. We'll leave as soon as we can, you don't have to worry. So long as we have fuel for the journey." He added gravely, "As much as you can spare."

There was a short pause. "You've got a lot of balls, I'll give you that."

Castiel glanced down, blinking. "Just the usual amount."

"Son, a gallon of gas is worth as much as a week's ration." Ulysses looked at him grimly. "What if I say no? You'll leave those two girls to starve come winter?"

"You misunderstood. Carl is a kind boy. He'll tell you what he knows, regardless of your decision," Castiel said, adding, "General, we won't ask for more than you can give us. Your people drive when they could walk. You're not worried about your gas consumption at all. You're actually producing usable fuel, aren't you? That's good of you, even the Israelites had to replenish after eight days." He licked his lips. He wouldn't say this to Ulysses, but he'd been able to smell their efforts from the moment they had arrived in McLaren, even taste the byproducts from the distillery on his lips.

Ulysses sucked a breath between his teeth. "All right. Since you know so much about us. Sure, the lab boys can get some knock off fuel. It's not easy to make, and it's not perfect, either. Your engine's going to be stone cold dead in a few months, running this stuff."

"We won't need that long," Castiel said, shrugging. "Will you help us, then?"

"Not so fast," The general looked at him in consideration, mouth set in a frown. "You know, when the children started going missing, we thought it was an inside job. We didn't start looking outside the gates until number three disappeared from her bed. She was Rodriguez's niece, Maria. Great kid." He was watching carefully for Castiel's reaction. "Is she dead?"

Castiel looked at his hands. "She was. And she is. I'm sorry."

" _Four_ went missing. Only one came back. Two, counting the new girl. Damndest thing, that. Her father showing up here of all places," Ulysses said dryly. "Apparently, the same damn thing happened to him, right before Zack got to the rest of his family." He sighed, then said. "Now, I spoke to those girls-"

"How are they?" Castiel asked.

"Peachy. They told me the craziest story. Now, somehow you got them back to us, safe and sound. And to top it all of, you'll be teaching us how not to starve?" Ulysses shook his head. "Got to look that horse in the mouth, son. It's just the kind of world we live in."

"I don't know any horses," Castiel admitted, "but I'll tell you anything you'd like to know."

The general slammed his fist down on the desk, temper flaring for the first time. "Four kids, not a mark, not a sound, Castiel Winchester. Who in God's Zack-ridden Earth did it? And how the hell did _they_ make it past our walls?"

Castiel hesitated before he started to dutifully explain the turn of events. As the children had wished, he carefully censored the supernatural aspects of the story. He explained that he himself had been held captive by the same person who had abducted children from different camps and communities. Gently, he told Ulysses that most of the children had been killed by that person before two teenage girls had managed to overpower and kill him.

With every word that came out of his mouth, Ulysses' expression darkened. "Alright, that's enough," he said roughly, waving his hand in a request for silence. Then he all but slumped in his seat, sighing heavily. "I want to believe you, I really do. Those two little girls? They seem to think the world of you. Very loyal. The rest are too, or so I'm told. Rodriguez tells me they do everything that you tell them to."

"That's an odd accusation," Castiel slow, frowning. "What _did_ the girls say to you?"

He gave Castiel as significant look. "The same damn thing you told me. The _exact_ same thing, _word-by-word_. You…" he sighed again. "You coached them pretty well, I'll admit."

Castiel winced. The general had a point. Indeed, the girls had been coached. _By Claire_. And so was he, although it bothered him a little to learn that he was as transparent as a pair of nine-year-olds.

"Now, lieutenant Rodriguez thinks you're out to play us. I'm not sure I agree. See, I know all about loyalty," Ulysses said. "You either force it, or you earn it." He sighed, looking very tired. "So which one was it? Forced or earned?"

"What was it for you?" Castiel wondered. He thought not of the children, but back to his own subordinates of past, those he had let down, those who had let _him_ down. Perhaps he could have learned something, had he met Ulysses before. Then again, he had been so arrogant back then. Unlikely that he would have listened to the advice of a human commander.

"Bit of both," Ulysses admitted after a short pause.

Castiel nodded, then said, "General, I'm not a threat to your people. I don't have a secret agenda. The whole truth is... complicated. There is little to gain by it. The person who invaded your community is gone. Isn't that enough?" He held out his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Ulysses' eyes narrowed. "You know I need something better than that."

"Very well," Castiel sighed. He looked the general in the eyes. And reached out.

He didn't do this often. Such a connection… he needed to bring a bit of his true self to the surface, just to the edge of his human vessel. While harmless, it greatly disturbed the intended target. Nevertheless, he looked long and hard into the eyes of the man sitting before him.

And here was the other reason Castiel rarely did this. Humans felt _so much_. Now more than ever. It was overwhelming. Here was a soul who had known sorrow, had known loss and grief. Here was a soul weighted down by immeasurable guilt, and had done unspeakable things. Castiel would have pitied him, but they were _all_ like this now. Every human survivor carried their own horror story inside of them. Too much of everything tucked inside a tiny flesh body.

He looked at Ulysses, and Ulysses looked at him.

Castiel said, very calmly, "The other children... I couldn't save them. I couldn't save _any_ of them. I was completely helpless. They saved _me_. The ones who didn't make it, they were… consumed. I knew them, and I couldn't help them. That is my burden." He allowed Ulysses to glimpse at his memories, knowing the man would not understand entirely, but that he would understand enough. "Do you see?"

"Stop," Ulysses gasped. "I believe you. I believe you."

Castiel broke the connection.

Ulysses gasped, ripping his gaze from Castiel. Those were the remnants of the connection: Ulysses' heart was about to burst out of his chest and he was afraid, no, terrified. Little by little, the panic subsided. Ulysses' jumbled thoughts slowed. Then became ordered. Then, at last, became private.

Castiel rose from his seat. He leaned back against the desk next to the general, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured, looking out the window. "I understand now, you're trying to make amends for what you've done. I know the feeling." He stated. "You're still a good man, Leonard Ulysses. Despite it all."

Ulysses lifted his eyes to stare at Castiel in undisguised horror. "You're…"

"Not here to judge you," Castiel said simply. "You know me now. We're not so different, you and I. Will you help me carry out _my_ duty?"

Ulysses shut his eyes, sagging in his seat. He nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, this chapter was a nightmare. It was intended as a character study of Castiel, and he fought me the whole way.
> 
> Cas was a big deal in Heaven, right? So, I really wanted to play him off against real soldiers. Who are, by the way, are kind of always vilified in post-apocalyptic stories? Which is kind of weird considering most western countries, US especially, have a serious strong mindset of supporting the troops. At the end of the day, people are people.
> 
> Anyway, in my experience, high ranking officers are basically just politicians. I figured playing off someone like that against Cas, there's going to be a lot of posturing, a lot of shady attempts to throw him off guard. Of course, it won't work, 'cause Cas just doesn't get it. But as the good general found out, Cas isn't dumb. Sure, he was unsettled, but not in the way he was intended to be.
> 
> Two more things: 1. "Zack" as a title for zombies is taken from WWZ. I really love that book. 2. It's totally possible to make homemade fuel from all kinds of things. Thanks, Google.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is MY fuel!


	19. Where the Wild Things Grow

"You want me to teach them _what_?"

"Agriculture," Castiel repeated. It didn't take long for him to rejoin them at the rec room, flanked by lieutenant Rodriguez and an older man who was introduced to them as general Ulysses.

"You know," Enid was quick to point out, "farming and stuff."

"I know what agriculture means," Carl grumbled, becoming exasperated by all the attention. He angled his head so his good eye landed on the general. "I'm not saying no," he stressed, voice even, "but you should know, I'm probably not the best guy for the job."

Ulysses gave a minute inclination of his head. "I have a feeling you'll do fine."

"You don't know me," Carl pointed out.

The old man's eyes crinkled. "That's why they call it a hunch, son."

"I'm not your son," Carl said dryly, ignoring the way Enid's foot suddenly bumped into his in warning.

None of the soldiers seemed affronted by his attitude, in fact, Ulysses was starting to look a little fond. "My apologies," the general said amiably.

"I'd like to speak to the children privately," Castiel said. Immediately, the general responded, giving Castiel a brisk nod. He took the rest of his people with him, even Dr. Ganguly and the glaring soldier on guard duty.

"What did you tell them?" Claire rounded on Castiel as soon as the door closed again.

Shifting a little on his feet, Castiel answered without meeting her eyes, "Oh, you know, Plan A."

"Really."

"It worked beautifully, Claire," Castiel assured her. Without giving her a chance to ask anything else, Castiel turned to Carl. "You have doubts?"

Carl felt his shoulders slump. Unconsciously, he raised a hand to his face but stopped himself before he touched the fresh bandage. The others hadn't seen his face when Dr. Ganguly took off his bandage (and she herself had been kind enough not to look horrified) but he was still feeling all too exposed.

"Carl?"

"I don't think I can help them," Carl admitted in defeat. For the first time in forever, he felt like he was unraveling, anxiety getting the best of him. "I _know_ I said we had a garden at the prison, but I only _helped_ with it. Only _sometimes_. My friend's dad Hershel, he was the one who was running things. He used to have a farm. We did stay there a while but I didn't help there much _either_. 'Cause I just got shot. Again."

Carl took a breath, feeling the heat rising in his face. "It was before the eye thing. So, I really only ever helped out at the prison - a little - and we only spent a year there, and a lot of other stuff happened so it wasn't like I was always _at_ the garden _anyway_. So, um, I don't think I'm really _capable-_ "

"Carl," Castiel interrupted, coming to grip his shoulder. "I have faith in you," he said plainly.

That was all it took, really. An angel saying he had faith in Carl. What the hell happened to his life? Somewhere in Actual Heaven, Hershel was looking down at Carl _and laughing his ass off_.

Over in the next few hours, Carl found himself regurgitating Hershel's teaching to the people of McLaren. It had been a little intimidating at first, though he did his best not to let it show. Yet the more he talked, the more he found himself remembering. It never stopped feeling weird, though.

They were not complete beginners, he had learned. Technically, they had a lot more experience than Carl did. The farmers in McLaren had taught themselves using books with titles like "The Organic Awakening" and "Easy Urban Gardening". Unfortunately, they had picked up a lot of misconceptions along the way. It wasn't their fault; while Carl himself had had practical lessons in sustainable farming, they had to do with manuals for growing cherry tomatoes in store bought dirt.

It was approaching sundown when Carl was preparing to end the lesson (again). He dipped his hands into a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing away in an attempt to remove the accumulated dirt. His students (all twelve of them!) stood around him in a circle, their notebooks held at the ready for his next insight.

"To wrap it up," Carl said, "the most important thing, always, is to keep the soil healthy. Do as I showed you and next time these-" he jerked his head to the pile of sickly-looking potato plants, "-will definitely come out better."

 _Scribble, scribble, scribble_.

Picking at his nails under the water, Carl added to the lesson's conclusion, "And, um, like I said, keep it diverse. Because, um..." Twelve pairs of eyes looked up from their notebooks expectantly. "Well, I'm not sure," he admitted, sheepishly. "I just remember that rotation is really important. Three or four years at least."

He tried to remember what else Dad or Hershel ever said on the topic. Likely, they never got around to it. The prison hadn't really worked out for them in the long run, but maybe the folks in this community would have better luck.

One of his students - a spiky-haired, heavily tattooed middle-aged woman who looked weirdly out of place in her farmer's overalls - raised her pencil. "Could you show us the layering technique one more time?" she asked.

Carl stopped scrubbing his hands. "Sure," he sighed.

The sun had set by the time the lesson was really finished. McLaren was a large community, well lit even at night, with enough space inside its walls to hold the town, the military base, and even a small lake. Carl had learned that they were using the walker herds as protection from raiders and kept the herds moving away from the community by the use of remote controlled drones.

Tomorrow morning, the soldiers would use the drones to clear up a path for them, distracting the walkers in their way. Together with the fuel they'd received and the brand new map approximating the state of the roads ahead, Carl and the others were looking forward to a much easier start to their journey.

Tonight, though, they were going to stay at a very nice house in the rich part of the town. Castiel must've _really_ made an impression on the general, Carl thought.

As he approached the house, Carl saw that the van was already parked and ready in the driveway. To Carl's surprise, it was no longer white but covered in graffiti. At least the two duffel bags were still secured to the roof. One of them was starting to look a little light, he noticed. It was amazing how much food they went through in just a few days on the road, in spite of their rationing.

Enid was sitting on the porch steps, illuminated by the small light above the front door. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and there were paint spots on the tan, oversized jumpsuit she'd liberated from the ship. She gave him a little smile in greeting when he approached.

"Please tell me there's hot water," he said straight away. He'd forgotten how _hard_ the farming stuff actually was. Besides the fact that he was sweaty and covered in muck, Carl's back and shoulder muscles were incredibly sore.

"Yep, Claire just went in. I'm supposed to go next but..." She looked at him appraisingly. "You can have my turn."

" _Thank you_ ," Carl said and meant it. He sat down next to her on the porch. "So, what'd you do all day?" He looked at her and then, pointedly, at the van.

"I helped Cas set up the wards," she whispered, leaning closer.

"The warts?" Carl asked, confused.

"Wards. W-A-R-D-S." Still whispering, she explained, "We painted them all over the walls. They're these symbols for protection. Cas says they stop bad things from coming in, like, um, _evil things_. Not walkers, though. Anyway, I don't think the townies are supposed to know about it." She added with an embarrassed smile, "I _might've_ used the last of the paint on the van."

"It looks nice." Carl grinned. "Is that a unicorn?" He gestured to a blob on the van's hood and then dodged Enid's answering swat. "Seriously, though," he added, lowering his voice, "the wards thing - how does it work?"

"Magic?" Enid's mouth quirked. "Who knows."

"Huh. Well, it wouldn't hurt to do the same in Alexandria," Carl suggested. A sudden thought came to his mind. "Hey, you _are_ coming back, right? You're not thinking about staying here or anything, are you?"

"What?" She pushed at his shoulder, mindless of the dirt on his shirt. "No, I'm not thinking about staying. Are you kidding?"

Her angry expression softened when she sighed. "I get it now, okay? It's not _just_ about surviving. I… want to go home. I miss everyone. I miss Glenn and Maggie."

"Me too," Carl admitted. "My dad must be losing his mind. He's so… so _fragile_ when it comes to losing people he loves. When Mom died… It was bad, Enid, really bad." He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. "I'm worried," he said, and almost wanted to laugh. _Worried_ didn't really cover it.

"It's going to be okay." Enid's hand landed on top of his on the porch step. "These guys gave us a better map and everything. I mean, Annabelle's staying here, and the twins are practically our next-door neighbors anyway, so it's straight to Alexandria from here. We'll be home in no time, okay? Your dad's not going to lose you or Judith."

She squeezed his hand. "Now quit whining and go take a shower; you _smell_."

 

* * *

 

"'Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in.'"

Carl had to hold back on his laughter. Most people adopted a strange intonation whenever they read out loud to children. Not Castiel; his gravelly voice was as monotonous as if he was reading out a grocery list.

"These are highly advanced animals," Castiel said, pausing in his reading. "I wonder, is it based on a true story?"

Castiel and the two younger children had been occupying the hideous green leather sofa in the borrowed living room. Judith had progressed to sitting in Castiel's lap, her blonde head tucked under his chin. She was staring at the book in his hands in wide awake fascination, tracing the pages with her stubby fingers. Oliver was curled up at Castiel's side, head listing forward as if he was on the verge of falling asleep.

Leaving them to it, and trying not to laugh out loud, Carl tiptoed his way back up the stairs. He and the other teenagers were "celebrating" their last (and technically only) night in McLaren. While Carl had been slaving away in the mud and manure, Jake had somehow managed to procure a half-full bottle of whiskey from his new soldier buddies.

"They've moved on to 'The Three Little Pigs'," Carl announced, taking back his spot on the king-sized bed. "Whose turn is it?"

Deciding not to waste the whiskey by simply _drinking it_ , they'd come up with a game which they called "Cozy Apocalypse". It was simple: someone would ask a question, and the person who came up with the _least_ horrifying answer had to drink. They went through a few rounds before it hit them: they forgot about Mikey.

"S'not _fair_ ," Mikey insisted, slurring a little. "You guys _know_ I didn't go out much." He took another shot of whiskey. "Okay… just. Just, one more and then I _fold_. Heh."

"No, man, you're done." Carl laughed, reaching over to battle with Mikey for the bottle. He then settled back against the headboard. "Okay, I've got one. Worst meat." He added, "We had snake a couple of times, but it's actually not that bad." He didn't mention the time he'd _almost_ been tricked into eating human flesh. _Almost_ didn't count.

Scott and Jake looked at each other. "Rats," the said in unison.

"Rats, definitely." Claire agreed. She gave a full body shudder. "Bugs, too."

Enid said, "Raw turtle." She sniffed. "Poor little guy."

"I'm the loser," Carl said cheerfully. He took a too large gulp, then immediately began to splutter. "It's really good," he insisted in a raspy voice. He coughed again. "Ugh, walkers wasted? Personally, I lost count."

Jake and Claire gave a thumbs up. "Same."

"Nine," said Mikey happily, even though he wasn't supposed to be playing anymore.

" _Ugh_. Maybe fifty. I sneak past 'em," Enid admitted, throwing her hands in defeat. She started to reach for the bottle, but before she could take it, someone else had plucked it from Carl's hand.

"Zero," Scott said quietly. He took a small sip. They all gaped at him.

"What, _really_?" Mikey asked in drunken bewilderment. "But you told Cas you can shoot!" He gasped. "Didja _lie?_ 'Cause y'know, lying to an angel, that's gotta be, like, a mortal sin."

Claire burst out into laughter. "I _love_ drunky-Mikey," she said between giggles, ruffling the boy's hair.

"I _can_ shoot," Scott said over Claire's laughter. "Just never shot… you know." He sighed. "Forget it."

" _Dude_ ," Mikey pushed at Scott's shoulder with probably more force than necessary. "I was _joking_." He gave an exaggerated frown, leaning closer to Scott. "Hey, um, didja ask him yet?" he said in a stage-whisper, throwing glances at Carl. "'Cause I can. I can _totally_ ask him for you."

"Don't worry about it," Jake answered for his brother. "It was a stupid idea anyway."

"No, no, no, c'mon. It was an _awesome_ idea," Mikey insisted, his eyes wide and sincere "'Cause you guys! You guys are awesome. I love you guys."

"Jeez, man." Jake drew a hand across his face. "Don't make it weird."

"Uh, what's going on?" Carl asked, frowning. "What were you gonna ask me?"

Jake sighed. "It was just a dumb idea, alright? Me and Scotty, we've been thinking, you know, where to head next. We thought about staying _here_ , but these guys, they really mean it about not taking new recruits." He shrugged. "Mikey heard us talking, so-"

" _So I said,_ I said to them, 'why don't you ask _Carl_ if you can come to _Alexandria_?' Because, you know, your dad's like, in charge now," Mikey said, looking at Carl expectantly.

"Um." It was kind of true, he supposed. Rick always did end up running things, even when he tried to avoid it. "Sort of? But… I thought you guys were going home."

Scott's eyes widened. "God, no."

Jake said at the same time, "No way in hell we're ever going back to Sanctuary."

"Bad place?" Enid guessed.

Scott huffed, then took another drink. "You don't want to know."

"Thing is -" Jake said, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, "The thing is, we wanted to make a break for it, we did, but it was impossible, man. These guys, they don't fuck around. They either kill you or they turn you into one of them. And if you run... which is probably what they _think_ we did..." Jake gave a dry little laugh. "That Aztec douche was probably the best thing that ever happened to us."

"They might kill you too if they see us together," Scott added with an apologetic air. "Trust me, this is a fight you don't want to pick."

There was a little pause of silence.

"Guys, I want to ask you something. Don't, um, don't take it the wrong way." Watching the brothers for their reactions, Carl continued, "How many people have you killed?"

They both flinched. "Way to put it out there, man," Jake muttered, taking the bottle from his brother's loose grip. "Shit. I don't even know. Myself, less than walkers, but..." He grimaced, then took a long swing from the bottle.

"Why?"

Jake chuckled humorlessly, looking away from them. "'Cause we're bad people."

"That's bullshit," Claire interrupted. "You're a bit of a dick - sorry Jackie, you know you are - but you're not _bad_."

"Come back with us to Alexandria," Carl said decisively.

The brothers exchanged uneasy looks. Scott started to ask, "Didn't you hear what-?"

"I heard you. Sounds like you were in a bad place and it sucks, it really, really sucks, but it doesn't mean you don't get a second chance. And if those Sanctuary assholes come looking for you, well, we'll protect you." Hearing Jake's snort, he added, "Seriously, we're badasses. Right, Enid?"

"Yep." She grinned.

Jake's eyes were suspiciously red. "If you're sure," he said, and then, at Carl's answering grin, launched himself across Claire and Enid (both of them loudly protesting), tackling Carl in a bear hug.

"You're all right for a wannabe pirate." Jake sniffed.

"You're still an asshole," Carl said, laughing and clapping the older boy on the back.

Of course, that was when Castiel decided to show up. "What are you doing?"

Jake squawked in surprise, scrambling to his feet and at the same time throwing the bottle of whiskey down at Carl. It landed on the mattress between him and Enid, spilling its contents and staining the pretty, flower patterned sheets. Carl and Enid jumped to their feet, shoving and smacking away at Jake in indignation.

They stopped at the sound of Castiel's loud, disappointed sigh.

"Busted," Claire coughed into her fist.

Castiel picked up the now almost empty bottle, examining its faded label calmly. He looked at each of them in turn, unimpressed.

"Really?" he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another difficult chapter, sorry for the wait. By the way, you guys remember what Sanctuary is, right? *cackles*


	20. On the Road (Again)

Carl had thought that luring walkers away using drones - _military grade drones!_ \- would be pretty exciting. Okay, watching the little guys take off _had_ been kind of cool; Carl had _ooh'd_ and _aah'd_ along with everybody else. But after that, there was really nothing for them to do. They couldn't even _see_ the video feeds - and that was supposed to be the best part!

No, they were just told to wait by the gates, packed up and ready to go, while the soldiers worked their magic back at the base. As it turned out, coordinating herds took time. Mostly because walkers - who would've guessed? - were _slow_.

They weren't exactly left to stew, though. People came by to keep them company while they waited. Carl had received a weirdly heartfelt thanks from general Ulysses, hugs from Daliah and Annabelle, more questions from the farming brigade, and a semi-terrifying lecture about trauma aftercare from Dr. Ganguly. At the end of it all, Carl somehow found himself feeling both anxious _and_ sorry to leave.

When the All Clear came (at last) Carl climbed into the front of the van next to Castiel. For once, no one fought him over it. They were leaving McLaren with a full tank and several jerrycans strapped to their roof. Carl's muscles were _still_ sore from yesterday's farming lesson - he'd definitely _earned_ Shotgun.

It was still pretty cramped in the back, never mind the two girls they were leaving behind (who hadn't taken up that much space to begin with). Carl could hear Judith bouncing about with her new favorite word on repeat ("George"), Oliver squeaking, "Ow, don't sit on me!", the twins shoving at each other, and the general shuffling and sniping that happened whenever anyone had inevitably invaded someone else's space.

"Never let me drink again," Mikey moaned pitifully.

"Don't you _dare_ throw up in here, Michael," Claire snapped at him.

"Please, will you all settle down?" Castiel squinted at them in the rearview mirror, voice close to pleading. " _It's been five minutes._ "

There was a brief respite of silence.

"I gotta pee," Claire said sheepishly.

Thankfully, they got through the day without major incidents. It wasn't exactly a perfect ride - far from it. The road conditions kind of sucked, limiting their speed. And, on a few occasions, they needed to clear up a path using their old routine. On the other hand, the intel was solid and the walker presence was noticeably thinner.

They drove west rather than hugging the riverside - as taking the shortest route to Alexandria meant having to make suicide runs by cities and major highways - past the wrecked ruins of Philadelphia and deeper into the mainland.

"Do you think anyone made it out?" Carl asked Enid during a pit stop close to the city. The view was pretty depressing. There was nothing but rubble beyond the green road sign; not a single skyscraper had survived.

"Maybe," Enid answered, but he could tell she didn't really believe that.

Later, when they had stopped to refuel for the third time (the van really gobbled up the homemade stuff), Carl suddenly realized that they were actually making pretty good progress. If they kept their pace they might even reach Alexandria as early as _the next day_. The thought shook him so much that he didn't even protest when the twins staged a hostile takeover of the front seats.

Daylight burned while they drove through an area that was, all of a sudden, much more rural than before. The younger kids were starting to get cranky about being cooped up in the van for so many hours, so Carl and the others banded together to try and entertain them. An irritated toddler in a closed space was never fun, and Oliver, who was freakishly well behaved 99% of the time, could make that 1% _count_.

Carl suddenly got into his head to try and teach Judith how to whistle - she looked at him like he'd gone nuts - which somehow turned into teaching _Castiel_.

"Look, look, Cas, _it's easy_ ," Carl insisted but then struggled to actually perform through his (very manly!) giggles.

Castiel shifted around, too big to fit comfortably in the back of the van. He wore a look of intense concentration on his face as he tried, once again, to produce a passable whistle but only managed a wet, weird little exhale. For someone who supposedly had _feathers_ , he really sucked at making bird noises.

"That was _terrible_ ," Enid hooted, crumbling sideways. Castiel glared at her, which only made her laugh harder.

Judith giggled hysterically, finding their behavior absolutely hilarious.

"It's physiologically impossible for some," Castiel said when he finally gave up, looking unimpressed with all of them. "I know these things," he insisted.

"Dad could _so_ whistle, Cas," Claire pointed out, wiping at her tear-streaked face.

"Yo, weirdos," Jake called out, stopping Carl from asking her what she'd meant. "We should probably start heading down south, right?"

Castiel sounded a little grumpy when he replied, "Not today. We need to find someplace for tonight; it will get dark soon."

They ended up stopping at a side road motel that looked secure enough for one night. According to the peeling sign at its front, the motel was called, inexplicably, 'Hunters Run'.

("Run where?" Castiel had puzzled).

'Hunters Run' was small, rundown, and was probably a crapsack long before the dead got to walking. Nevertheless, at some point in time, someone had put a halfway decent barricade around it, using what looked like most of the furniture. Jake managed to back the van up into a small gap in the barrier, effectively sealing it with them inside. There was much groaning and grumbling as they all climbed out of the van, limbs in desperate need of stretching after sitting so long in such a cramped space.

"We couldn't find a Hilton?" Claire asked, standing with her hands on her hips.

"I like it," Castiel informed her. He studied the single-floor structure intently. "Carl, make a noise."

Carl grinned. He handed a squirming Judith over to Scott before sticking two fingers in his mouth and letting out a shrill whistle. Carl couldn't hear any stirring walkers from their position at the edge of the parking lot, but of course, Castiel was a league of his own. Almost immediately, he began to call out the weak spots:

"Something's moving in the back, over there. Raccoons, I think, but keep your guard up just in case. And there are several _walkers_ , as you say, in rooms eight, eleven, and-" Castiel paused, tilting his head like a bird- "and nineteen. Let's make it quick."

"I'll go with you," Carl volunteered.

"Me too," Claire announced, bringing out her sharp silver blade with a showy flick of the wrist. Castiel had taught her his neat little sleeve trick, which she'd been practicing. "What's with the look, Cas? You still want me on the bench? 'Cause even the doc said I'm A-OK. Here, watch this." She bounced from foot to foot easily, as if she hadn't been limping just a few days ago. Even the bruising on her face had faded considerably. "Ta-dah."

"You heal like Wolverine." Enid nodded appreciatively.

"My God, you're a nerd," Claire said with a grin, earning an eye roll from Enid. "So, are we cleaning out this dump or what? Let's get to it already, I'm _starving_."

They cut down the walkers quickly (but didn't bother the raccoons) even though Castiel probably could've taken them out with much less fuss. Claire was stronger than she looked, and pretty efficient with the knife, too. Carl knew that of course, having seen her practice, but it was different watching her handle actual flesh and blood walkers.

It was getting to be pretty chilly at night. Unfortunately, the motel rooms were unlivable. Whoever had stayed there before had left behind a broken down mess. No one wanted to play housekeeper for the sake of one night, so they dragged the few surviving mattresses out to the parking lot, and lit up a small fire in order to keep themselves warm.

Even though he'd had far worse in the past, Carl was finding it difficult to fall asleep. His mind kept circling back to Alexandria, thinking that maybe, if their luck kept, tomorrow he'd spend the night in his own bed. He hoped that his dad was hanging on to his sanity and that Michonne wasn't blaming herself too much for their disappearance. He would tell them the truth, he decided. They might not believe him (and Claire might not like it) but he owned them that at least.

"Can't sleep?" Carl heard Claire ask in a sleep-addled voice. She wasn't speaking to him, though.

Castiel gave a small huff of laughter. "You're not funny," he said anyway.

"I'm hilarious."

Carl rolled over to his side. He saw Claire sitting up in her bedding, yawning. Out of all of them, Claire knew Castiel the best. They had a history, that much was obvious, although so far Carl hadn't managed to get much detail out of either of them. It was funny: back in Heaven (or whatever), they hadn't really been able to see the faces of any of the fake parents, but he kind of thought that Claire's dad looked like Castiel.

"Your brooding is keeping me up," Claire said, wrapping her blanket around her body like a cocoon.

"Sorry."

"What's the matter?" She asked. "You've got a face."

"A face?"

"You look worried."

"Oh."

Castiel looked up to the stars, sighing. He didn't say more for the longest time. Claire didn't prod, though she kept looking at him expectantly. Carl's eye was shutting on its own when Castiel's voice jerked him back to awareness.

"I haven't heard from Dean in several days. It's… unlike him."

"He prays a lot?"

"Every night," Castiel told her, sounding puzzled. "Normally."

 _Prays?_ Carl thought, frowning a little.

It was hard not to like _Cas_ , he was funny and badass and kind of weirdly adorable. But every now and then, Carl would get a reminder that _Castiel_ was a legitimate, kid-you-not, actual biblical-fire-and-brimstone Angel with a capital A. It was hard not to get tongue-tied whenever he'd stop to think about it.

"Don't worry so much," Claire said as she laid back down, head propped on her hand. "It's been awhile since I met 'em, but those brothers seemed pretty tough to me, y'know? Like, they can handle it." Then she added, as if the thought just came to her, "Maybe he's just busy? It's the end of the world and stuff. Things _can_ get a little intense."

"I noticed," Castiel said, his voice soft.

Some time passed alongside a lull in the conversation. Carl managed to fall into a light sleep, waking up every now and then from Jake's snoring, or the crickets' chirping, or from rustling whenever Castiel got up to feed wood scraps to their little fire or take care of the occasional walker that wandered a little too close to their camp.

"Hey, Cas." He heard Claire murmur at one point. Her voice was soft, half-asleep. "You told Dad you wouldn't age, so how come you look older? You turn on your aging settings or something?"

When Castiel didn't reply, she continued insistently, suddenly seeming much more awake, "Wait, you did, didn't you? Oh my God, you totally did. _You turned on aging because of Dean!_ " She started to laugh a little, the sound coming away muffled.

"Claire," Castiel said in an exasperated voice.

"It's kinda sweet."

"Go to sleep, Claire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys! Less time to write lately, sorry to say. Next chapter will be up this week, fingers crossed. We're approaching the climax of the story, so keep your seatbelts buckled!


	21. Whiplash

Carl was being chased.

He couldn't see ( _he couldn't see!_ ) the dead closing in on him, but there was no mistaking their presence. Safety was just up ahead but his legs… there was something wrong with his legs. They were weak, heavy. Useless like his missing eyes.

Surrounded by darkness, Carl dropped to his hands and knees. If he couldn't run, he'd might as well crawl. Only, that didn't seem work, either. There was no getting away, no matter how desperately he clawed at the ground. Helpless and blind, he waited. All the while, the walkers' rumbling cries went on and on…

"Should I wake him up?" a voice said. It sounded a lot like Enid. "I should probably wake him up."

"Mrrrph," Carl let out, stirring. The walkers disappeared but the noise remained; the dream faded to the back of his mind, leaving behind the van's engine familiar rumble. He pressed the side of his face more firmly to his warm pillow and just about managed to slur, "Are we there yet?"

"No," said Enid's laughing voice. "We've only been driving for, like, an hour."

"Oh," said Carl, who suddenly realized that his pillow was actually Enid's lap. Which he'd kind of drooled on. A bit. "Um, sorry," he said, pulling himself upright.

The two of them had been sitting side by side, using the back of the front seats as backrests. Somehow, he'd fallen asleep, fallen _sideways,_ and ended up with his head in Enid's lap. It had been a crappy sleeping position judging by the newly formed crick in his neck. Wincing, he rubbed at the sore muscle.

"No problem," said Enid, rubbing at her thigh to chase away pins and needles. "Jeez, you dropped like a rock."

"Yeah," Carl said through a barely stifled yawn. He looked down at the cause of his exhaustion, finding Judith dead to the world.

Unusually, she hadn't moved an inch while Carl had slept; still flat on her back on top of a bunch of old blankets, mouth gaping a little. Her chest was rising and falling with every deep breath. The van's steady rumbling had managed to lull her back to sleep just as soon as they'd gotten back on the road. He'd laid her down between himself and the wall, so that she would wake up with him right beside her. It had been still kind of dark back then - he only now spotted the dry tear tracks on her face.

Judith looked so peaceful now. Earlier that morning, she'd been anything but.

They'd spent the night camping out in an abandoned motel's parking lot, protected by a sturdy barrier and Castiel's ever vigilant watch. Judith's sudden screaming had sent Carl scrambling to his feet, knife clutched tightly in hand. He remembered how his heart had hammered, looking around wildly for whatever it was that had gotten the drop on them.

It hadn't been anything he could've killed with a blade. Only nightmares.

Of course, Judith's crying fit had managed to call for every walker in the area. Soon, they were clawing at the barricade, gnarled hands grasping uselessly through the cracks. All the while, Judith's crying went on and on, and none of Carl's usual tricks seemed to help at all.

"She's frightened," Castiel explained sympathetically, hand dropping to his side. His own tricks worked just as well as Carl's. "In her dream, she was left alone. She, well," he hesitated, "I believe she fears abandonment?"

In the end, she'd simply worn herself out. Carl too, apparently.

Carl sighed, tucking the blanket a little more securely around her. "I guess she still has some catching up to do," he said. Looking at the little cramped space that made for the back of the van, he found that she wasn't the only one.

Mikey was dozing lightly, head bouncing against the wall at every bump in the road. Jake's feet were propped next to Mikey's head, their owner somehow finding the space to lie down. Jake's eyes were closed but Carl didn't think he was asleep, not from the way he was squirming and sighing every so often.

"Dude, stop moving so much," Scott said, jabbing his pencil in Jake's ribs. At some point along their journey, Scott had gotten his hands on a sketchbook, one that he'd been filling rather diligently. Mostly with sketches of eyes, because he didn't seem to know how to draw anything else.

"Yeah," Oliver's squeaky voice rose in support. The young boy squirmed under Scott's arm to peer at the page critically. "Now it isn't _proportional_ ," he decided, saying the last word carefully and with conviction.

"What?" Scott said, squinting down at the drawing. He squeezed Oliver. "Yes it is. Shut up."

Oliver squeaked. "You should draw Carl next!" he said excitedly, still struggling to get away from under Scott's arm. "Then you won't _have_ to draw the other eye!"

"Oh, wow. Thanks, kid," Carl said, ignoring Jake who proved himself awake by laughing. "Where the hell are we anyway?" Carl craned his neck around (remembering, too late, about his cramp). He had his back to Claire in the driver's seat, so when he looked up, he could see a little past Castiel's profile in the passenger side. It was early yet, but the sun had risen while he'd slept, giving way to clear blue skies.

Castiel, who was sitting shotgun and therefore in charge of navigation, didn't respond until Claire reached out and poked him in the shoulder. "Um," he said, map crinkling in his hands.

Claire answered instead. "Just passed a little town called, get this, _Pow Pow Pow_." She let out a little snort. " _If_ you can call two houses and church a town. Which you can, apparently." She poked Castiel in the shoulder again.

"It's funny because of the repetition," Castiel supplied in response to the unspoken prompt.

"Ah, close enough," said Claire, chuckling. Then she asked, "Where's your head today, Cas?"

"Which one?" asked Castiel, distractedly. "Take the next turn."

" _Okay…_ " said Claire. The van made a sharp turn. "That's gonna take us off-course. _Again_. Is there something out there?"

"I don't like this neighborhood," Castiel said plainly. He seemed to relax a little, though.

"We're not near the DC area yet, are we?" Carl asked.

Jake snorted. "Not for a while. Don't forget, we gotta go around Sanctuary, too." Unlike his sibling, Jake was tall and broad shouldered, and always seemed to take too much space. He nearly kicked Mikey in the face when he pulled himself into a sitting position. "This tin can is gonna end up killing me."

"Awesome," Scott grumbled, "more legroom for the rest of us."

"What, you think I won't take you down with me?" Jake shot back before smacking the sketchbook out of Scott's hands.

It ended up hitting Mikey in the face. He startled awake with a snort, looking around wildly. Then, finding the projectile in his own lap, picked up the sketchbook and hurled it back at its owner.

Scott ducked behind his arms ("it wasn't me!") while Oliver scuttled closer to Carl and Enid, narrowly avoiding stepping on the sleeping Judith.

"Watch it," Carl warned, pushing the boy to Enid's side.

"Boys." Castiel turned around in his seat, looking so disappointed that even _Carl_ felt his face lit up with shame. The effect was promptly ruined when Castiel added, "Can you not?" Which was such a _Claire_ thing to say that the rest of them couldn't help cracking up.

"Oh yeah, you told them," Claire snickered in the face of Castiel's exasperation. "Carl," she called, "can't you make them behave back there?"

"What, taking care of _one_ toddler isn't enough?"

"Hey," Jake protested, feebly. After a moment, he seemed to perk up again. "Cas, can I ask you something? Like a... _theological_ question?"

"This should be good," Enid muttered in Carl's ear.

Jake continued, "What's _the deal_ with circumcision, anyway?"

"I was right," Enid said, voice coming muffled from covering her mouth with her hands. She couldn't see Castiel from where she was sitting, though. He looked almost embarrassed, which definitely piqued Carl's curiosity.

Claire was having none of it, though. "Seriously?" she choked, incredulous. "Of all the things… out of _everything_ you could _possibly…"_ She huffed. "And you're asking about _your dick_?"

Quietly, the freshly woken Mikey chimed in with, "Um, actually. It's a fair question."

Castiel, for his part, just shifted in his seat. "Technically, circumcision was a human practice since before the, um, covenant. And as far as I understand, it's not always done for religious purposes."

"Covenant?" Enid asked, curious despite her second-hand embarrassment.

"It's from the Bible," Claire said, sighing. "God got Abraham to, like, sign off their new religion by, you know-" she lifted one hand to make a snip-snip motion with her fingers. "Just the tip."

"Well…" Castiel said, sounding remarkably embarrassed. "That's not _quite_ right. God never spoke with Abraham. It was, um, Gabriel, actually. He liked to, uh, 'mess' with his charges." Castiel winced. "In all fairness, none of us thought Abraham would _actually_ do it. We didn't realize at the time that it would jump-start the Abrahamic religions."

When no one said anything, Castiel cleared his throat, adding, "In retrospect, I suppose that as far as pranks go... it got a bit out of hand?"

The silence lasted for several moments until Claire said, with conviction, "You guys are _such dicks_."

"It's been said, yes."

Once again, Carl found himself caught between awe and amusement. "I can't wait to tell Gabriel," he blurted. "The priest back at home, not the-" he pointed up, blushing.

"Archangel?" Castiel said in response. "Well, you could try, but he's dead."

"Oh."

"I think you made him sad," Enid whispered.

"I didn't know," he whispered back. "I was just making conversation."

"You guys can die?" Mikey asked, wide eyed.

"Oh, wow," Claire cut in, impatiently. "I changed my mind. Go back to talking about dicks."

"Of course," Castiel said. "Everything can die - some beings even get to have an afterlife."

"What's that really like?" Carl found himself asking. "If I can ask, I mean-" he glanced at the others, who grew still. They've all lost people. "Is my mom, you know, happy?"

Castiel turned in his seat, facing them once more. "She should be," he told Carl. "If her soul did ascend-" he paused to glance at Claire who had suddenly shoved at his shoulder- "I mean, _yes_. You mother would find it very difficult to be unhappy. Heaven resonates with souls individually. For example, one of Sam and Dean's friend's choice of Heaven had been to crack the system itself." He let out a little huff of amusement before continuing, "Once a soul goes through Initiation-"

"Through what?" Enid interrupted.

"Initiation. Each soul spends some time reliving their most cherished moments," Castiel explained, matter-of-factly. "After that, it depends on the individual."

"And, the, uh, _the souls_ , can they see us? I mean, my mom, is she… is she looking down on me and Judith?" Suddenly, after all the crap that Carl had done, that seemed very important.

Castiel inclined his head. "Well, that depends. Initiation may take minutes, or it may take centuries. Then, your mother would have to _want_ to know where she really is. And she would need to put in an official request." He grimaced. "I've been told by the angels in Human Resources that there's quite a lot of paperwork involved-"

"Um, wait," said Enid. "Human Resources? Heaven's got _paperwork_?"

"...Figuratively?" Castiel paused. "I really shouldn't be telling you all of this." He sighed, looking away from them. "In truth, your time _here_ , short as it may be, is worth tenfold the eons you will spend in Heaven. It's a pale reward for those who-" he cut himself off, sighing again. "I hope you won't get to see it, not for many years to come."

They drove in silence for a short time. Then Carl spoke up, finding another burst of courage, "What about the other place?"

"I don't recommend it," Castiel said, immediately. "It _smells_. And the current king of Hell is insufferable."

"No vacationing in hell, got it," Carl muttered, exchanging another bemused look with Enid.

Carl turned around to stand on his knees, gripping the shoulders of the front seats for balance. There was no partition between the front and the back, making it possible for Carl to see that they were heading down a vaguely familiar road. Vaguely familiar because it looked like everywhere else these days - bumpy cement, unkempt greenery, dead bodies. It was nowhere he recognized.

They were approaching a long, curving overpass. "What do you think," Carl asked, taking in the scenery, "can we reach Alexandria today?"

Claire glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Fewer walkers around, roads are not as crowded anymore… we might just make it." Somehow, she didn't seem very thrilled about it. A little too late, Carl remembered that getting to Alexandria also meant splitting ways.

"That's cool," said Carl, tentatively. He pushed at Claire's shoulder lightly. "You said _walkers_. We're rubbing off on you."

She shrugged.

"Hey, you know what this whole drive's been like?" He paused for effect. "A real trip."

Claire groaned. "Please, stop." But he caught her smiling, just a little.

Carl grinned. "I've got more. Do you know what a ham sandwich, a jellyfish, and a bus driver all have in common? It's-"

"Look out!" Claire called out, hitting the brakes.

Carl felt himself getting thrown forward. Claire yelled something else that he couldn't make out over the sound of the tires screeching. Then, he heard a _crack_ , almost like multiple gunshots going off at the same time. Later, Carl would understand that it had been the sound of their tires ripping, all thanks to the spikes strewn just past the curve in the road.

For a few precious seconds, Carl fought against the momentum, scrabbling to get his hands under his body. He wanted to lift himself up from the horizontal position he had found himself in, upper body squished between the front seats while his lower body dangled in the air. He felt the van swerving out of control, felt someone clinging to his legs.

Carl barely managed to raise his head when a weight settled over his back and a hand came down on the back of his neck, bracing. "Let go!" he gasped.

Right above Carl's head, Castiel called out a warning. There was another _crack_ , almost like thunder, complete with a burning light and a suddenly overwhelming smell of rain.

Carl must've blacked out then. He remembered, vaguely, the impact when they'd hit the guardrails at the side of the road. He remembered his stomach rolling with anxiety when they _hadn't stopped_ , soaring past the edge of the overpass. He remembered the momentum shifting, the swan dive to the ground. But he had felt none of it.

Then the light died out and Carl found himself on his back. He opened his eye, seeing Claire's stricken face staring down at him. She was hanging upside down from her seat belt, long blonde braid swaying lazily under her head.

"You okay?" Her voice trembled.

"The fuck just happened?" Jake gasped out, somewhere by Carl's feet.

"We crashed," Enid replied. Carl could see the top of her head in his line of sight. "Is everyone-"

" _Yes_ ," said Castiel, a little too sharply.

"We're upside down," Carl muttered dumbly. His eye was stinging a little and he realized with a jolt that he could smell smoke. And beyond that, the too-sharp scent of the McLaren home brewed gasoline."We should, we should…"

"Easy," said Castiel, who was, all of a sudden, peering down at Carl. "You're unhurt." Castiel looked up, easing back as he did. "Claire, can you release your seat belt?"

Carl remembered, suddenly, her teasing Castiel when he'd insisted she'd wear it.

"Yeah." Claire reached around herself to struggle with the buckle. "Got it," she said, before dropping down to the van's ceiling, managing to align herself after a bit of a fumble. Her knee came dangerously close to hitting Carl in the face. "Cas?" she asked, looking worried.

"I'm fine," Castiel said. "Help the others."

Carl took a deep breath. "I'm okay," he said, sitting up slowly, aided by Claire pulling on his arm. He winced at the expectation of pain - but none came. None except for that cramped neck he'd gotten earlier. "Really, I'm okay," he told Claire, a little dazed.

Then, he felt himself go cold. "Where's-" he said sharply, eye darting from one stunned face to the next.

Enid's hair was hanging wild around her face, and she was holding on to little Oliver, who seemed to be on the verge of tears. Jake, Scott and Mikey were sitting up, wearing identical expressions of alarm. Miraculously, everybody looked to be okay, if a little shaken. But none of that mattered, because he couldn't find his sister.

Then he spotted her, squished between the wall and Jake's large backpack. For a moment, she seemed just as stunned as he was. She stared at Carl with wide blue eyes, mouth hanging open. Suddenly, her face scrunched up and she started to cry.

Scott made as if to reach out to her. Carl shoved him out of the way. "Hey, hey, it's okay," Carl said through the lump in his throat. "Shh, it's okay, I got you."

He didn't pick her up, despite her reaching out to him. Rather, he started to run his hands over her, trying to see if she'd been hurt. Judith was having none of that, crawling into his lap on her own. "What happened?" he asked, face pressed to her blonde head.

"Trap," Castiel said simply, letting out a ragged breath.

"Guys," Claire said in alarm. "We need to get out of here. _Now_."

Carl looked up. The windshield had been cracked, but there was no mistaking the black smoke that was coming from under the van's smashed hood. It was becoming thicker by the second, and already seeping inside the vehicle, stinging their eyes and throats.

The back doors wouldn't open until Jake gave them a few solid kicks. They took in the clean air greedily. As he stepped out, Judith clutched tightly to his chest, Carl's foot landed in an oily puddle. It was coming from underneath the upturned vehicle, where their supplies - food, _gas canisters_ \- had been strapped to the roof.

"Move," Carl told the others, bodily shoving Mikey forward. He looked back to see Claire and Castiel getting out of the front cabin. Only Castiel wasn't doing so well: he was leaning heavily on Claire, looking dangerously close to collapsing.

"Jake!" Carl called, not stopping, because he still needed to carry Judith away from the smoke and the inevitable fire. "Something's wrong with Cas!"

They managed to get to what seemed like a safe distance. The overpass curved above several underpasses that looked like they had been tunneled right through the ground. The one they had found themselves in was a rather narrow road, bracketed on both sides by natural rock. There was nowhere to go but farther up the road.

Carl glanced back just in time to see the van catching fire. It spread quickly, flames engulfing the entire vehicle in a matter of seconds, aided by the gas spill.

"Oh, man," Carl breathed. As one, the group came to a stop, watching their ride home literally going up in flames. Even Judith stopped crying, mesmerized by the sight.

" _Cas_ ," said Claire urgently. "What's wrong?"

"It's fine," Castiel said, voice rougher than usual. "Just… give me a moment." He pulled away from Jake and Claire to sink down to his hands and knees, head sagging between his shoulders.

"You look like you're gonna hurl," Carl pointed out, helplessly caught between wanting to help his friend and wanting to comfort his terrified little sister. She wasn't crying anymore, but letting out little hiccuping breaths, body trembling. "What happened?" Carl asked.

 _How is it that we're okay and you're not?_ went without saying.

Castiel let out a ragged sigh. "Power surge. I used my wings to protect you from the crash." His head lifted. Carl was startled to see that his nose was now bleeding. "I, ugh, I seem to have misjudged the amount of power needed for a-" he gasped, then gritted out the rest of the sentence- "partial manifestation in this plane."

There was a pause. "No dexterity?" Enid asked softly, although Carl wasn't sure why.

Castiel gave her a tired, crooked smile. "No dexterity."

"Well, don't do it again!" Claire said roughly, hitting Castiel lightly in the shoulder. Worryingly, he swayed.

"Maybe try not to crash the car next time, then?" Jake snapped at her.

"She didn't," Carl remembered. Somehow, in the rush to get away from the van, he'd forgotten. "You said it was a trap? But where-"

"Guys," Mikey called out, pointing in the direction they came from. It was hard to see through the black smoke, but there were people coming up from behind them. A lot of people. And Carl doubted these ones were friendly.

A few were standing on the overpass, examining the crash site from above. Most of them, though, were stalking toward the smoldering wreckage with their guns drawn. The fire and smoke made a good distraction, but it wouldn't take long for these guys to realize that Carl and the others had gotten out.

"I see them. Don't think they spotted us yet," Jake grunted. He'd managed to grab his crowbar from the van. Moving it back to the crook of his arm, Jake used his considerable strength to haul Castiel back to his feet. "Cas, c'mon, man," he said, pulling Castiel's arm over his shoulder. "We gotta go - _now_."

They didn't get very far. "Nobody move!"

Carl looked up. There was a big man standing on the elevated ground that was the side of the road. A big man, holding a very big gun, and pointing it right at them. He let out a shrill whistle. "They're over here!" he called out, not taking his eyes off his targets. To them he said, "Hands where I can see 'em."

"How?" Carl couldn't help saying, arms tightening around Judith.

"Don't get clever with me, kid," the stranger said, smirk half hidden under his bushy reddish beard. The barrel of his rifle shifted slightly, lining up so it was pointed directing at Carl and Judith. "I promise you won't like it."

The other men (and they were only men, Carl noticed) emerged through the smoke. Like the bearded asshole who'd caught them, they weren't shy about where they were pointing their guns.

"Ah shit," one of the newcomers said, spitting on the ground. "I hate it when they have kids." He didn't lower his weapon.

"What did I tell you, Walt?" the bearded man said, dropping down to the underpass. It was a fairly long jump, but he seemed practiced, landing on bent knees. "I told you: fix the goddamn guardrails, why don't you?"

"Anyone you know?" Mikey muttered in Jake's direction.

It was Scott who answered. "Not the Saviors' MO."

One too many time that day, Carl felt his stomach drop. "Did you just say-"

"Shut the hell up," another one of the newcomers barked. He was a tall, rat faced man who seemed to blink practically non stop. He made a vague gesture with his handgun. "Let's see what you've got on you."

"Everything we _had_ went up in flames. Thanks to you, _assholes_ ," Claire pointed out. Her hands were clenched at her sides.

"That is _enough_ ," Castiel said, shaking off Jake's support. He seemed a little better - two seconds ago he couldn't even stand on his own - but there was no mistaking the effort it took for him to take those few steps forward. "We have no firearms," Castiel said, gesturing behind him. "We have no resources for you to rob anymore. _Lay down your arms_."

Carl might've imagined it, but did Castiel look relieved to have all the guns draw on him alone?

There was no way he could take all of them, Carl thought desperately. Castiel looked like a stiff gust of wind could knock him down. A few of the newcomers exchanged nervous glances nonetheless. Carl didn't blame them - who would want to be caught at the end of _that_ stare?

"You're kidding me, right?" The bearded man let out a little chuckle. He called over his shoulder, "Take the girls," and then, calmly, shot Castiel in the chest.

Carl gasped. Judith jerked in arms, letting out a terrified wail.

"No!" Claire cried, silver blade falling to her hand.

But Castiel, who merely staggered, lifted a hand to stop her advancing. He straightened, looking no worse than before.

" _Shit_." the bearded man's face turned blotchy. He hissed, taking a few steps back. Without taking his eyes off of Castiel, he called out, "Anyone got any _fucking silvers_?"

"Those won't help you," Castiel said calmly, slowly advancing on the group. Two more men took shots at him, managing to hit him several times in the upper body. This time, he didn't even flinch.

"You should go," Carl advised calmly, feeling anything but.

For a moment it seemed like the newcomers would do just that. "Nobody move!" the bearded man yelled. Carefully, he took aim.

Castiel froze.

"Not silver, huh?" the man said, teeth bared in a snarl. He was looking at Castiel but pointing his gun right past him.

" _Just go_ ," Carl repeated quietly.

"No chance in hell, kid." the man's mouth twisted in a smirk, eyes still fixed on Castiel. "Not until I figure out _what_ you are."

"I'll _show_ you," Castiel said, voice deceptively calm. "Let them go."

Save for a few, the other men looked like they were ready to bolt. "Maybe we should…" one of them, the rat faced man, started to say.

"No!" the bearded man snapped, spittle flying. "And _you_ , boys and girls, get over here." When they didn't immediately obey, he growled, "Move. _Now_ ," and fired a warning shot at their feet.

It all happened very fast.

The bullet hit the gravel by Carl's feet. Somehow he staggered back, still having felt the impact. Ricochet, he realized. There was no pain. No until he looked down and saw nothing but red.

"Judith?" he whispered at the suddenly listless weight in his arms.

Somewhere far away, and somehow all around him, chaos erupted. From the corner of his eye, he saw Castiel grabbing the bearded man by the face. His skull gave away with a sickening crunch. People yelled, screamed, cursed. More bullets got fired.

None of it mattered. Not while Judith's blue eyes stared so blankly, face somehow still untouched by all the blood.

Carl sank to his knees. "Please," he said through his tears, shaking the small body again and again. "Please, no, _no_."

And then Castiel was there. He knelt down next to them, laying a bloody hand on Judith's chest. "Close your eyes," he ordered.

 _Close your eyes,_ Carl thought to himself, in his own voice and in his own head. Yet, somehow, he knew that the thought hadn't been his own.

All by itself, his eye squeezed itself shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for the unexpected delay. I hope you enjoyed (?!) the chapter. Please feed me back some feedback! xoxo


	22. In the Crossfire

The gravel exploded at their feet. Claire hissed through her clenched teeth but stood her ground, determined not to be intimidated.

Assholes: End of the World Edition. Claire would know their type anywhere - trigger-happy, greedy-ass, survival-justifying _douchebags._ Before, they could have been anybody, had probably been nobody, and now thought they were _somebody_. They were the ones who preyed on others - because they could, because it was easy, because they thought that there was no one left to stop them.

Consumed by rage and old hurts, Claire rushed forward before the shot was done echoing. She wanted to take down that ugly, grizzled sonofabitch before he managed to take another potshot at them, wanted to wipe that smug expression right off his face.

Castiel beat her to it. He'd been closer to the bearded man and managed to close the distance between the two of them in two fell swoops. Castiel normally fought bluntly and aggressively, even more so when he was actually angry. There was nothing refined or graceful about it: in the course of a single breath, Castiel was ripping the gun out of the way and seizing the man by the face, cutting off his howl.

The man's head caved in a glorious splatter of blood, bone and brain matter. The sight of it broke down the rest of the assholes' composure, as well. Claire heard their cries of fear and outrage. She was about to call out a warning when someone slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the ground.

All hell broke loose.

"Get down!" Scott yelled directly in her ear, forearm pushing down on her shoulder blades. The gunfire drowned out everything but the sound of his voice. "Claire, stay down!"

Claire stopped her struggling, feeling Scott's thin chest sagging in relief against her back. With a grunt, she lifted her face, scraping her chin on the road. Her mouth opened in a muted cry at what she saw.

Castiel was just standing there, facing the group of men and the ensuing onslaught. The nearly headless corpse dropped, forgotten, at his feet, rifle likewise discarded. Minutes before, he hadn't been able to stand on his own. Now, he wasn't doing anything else. Castiel didn't even twitch as bullet after bullet ripped through him.

Well, not exactly _through_ him, Claire realized with a jolt. The men were clearly hitting their marks, but there were no exit wounds, no gaping holes in the back of Castiel's coat.

"What's he _doing_?" Scott asked loudly into her ear. He stayed on top of her, breaths heavy enough to disturb the dust on the road.

"Wasting their ammo," Claire gasped out the realization. The guns couldn't hurt Castiel. He was making sure they couldn't hurt any of them, either.

The smell of burning flesh and gunpowder permeated the air. The men were in a frenzy, shells flying from their assortment of firearms. They were forced to draw nearer to Castiel, their backs to the fire that was only getting worse - bigger, smokier, trapping them with nowhere to go but farther down the road.

The underpass, barricaded at both shoulders, was the perfect killing zone. But the tables had turned. The men didn't seem to realize that they were evening the odds with every bit of ammo they wasted. Or, more accurately, pretty much _destroying_ their odds, because the moment they'd run out of bullets would be the moment Castiel would turn on them. Claire just hoped there'd be something left for her, as well.

It would've worked, but unfortunately, not everyone was on board. The one called Walt wasn't taking part in the shooting frenzy. On the contrary: he seemed to be trying to get it to _stop_. Only, his words and frantic gestures seemed lost on the men. It wasn't until he pulled the trigger on one of his own that they finally listened.

"Don't shoot - it's not human!" Walt shouted, finally able to make himself heard. "Save your bullets, goddamn you!" Holstering his weapon, Walt took a step forward, pulling out a long silver knife instead. He held it up as he approached Castiel, palm out, as close to placating as someone with a knife could be. "We don't want no trouble," Walt said in spite of the ugly twist of his face. "Why don't we just… oh, _fuck it all_."

Claire heard it, too; someone was crying. Blood rushing in her ears, she scrambled to her feet from underneath Scott's wiry frame and ran back to the others, Walt and his fellow douchebags momentarily forgotten.

It was impossible to tell who was hurt in that huddling cluster of bodies, not until Claire ducked under Jake's broad frame and pushed aside Enid's trembling shoulders. She found Carl in the middle of that human cocoon. He was the one crying - short, hitching sobs that rocked his whole body, intermingled with incoherent mumbling - sitting on his knees and hunched so low that his long hair spilled on the ground.

There was so much blood.

"Let me see," Claire begged, pawing at his shaking frame. He didn't budge, didn't seem to hear her at all. "Carl, _let me see_."

"Claire," whispered Oliver, suddenly right there. She was about to tell him to get out of the way, _to run_ , when he asked, eyes bright and very wide, "Is Judith going to turn?"

Claire rocked back on her heels. Judith's arms, the only part of her that Claire could see, were hanging loose and limp. Claire reached out to touch one small hand, finding it pliant and still warm. Now that the guns were no longer blazing, Jake and Mikey stood back, not knowing what to do. Enid stayed next to Carl, rubbing his back gently, speaking softly. He didn't seem to even know she was there.

"Cas?" Claire called to him, voice coming away impossibly small. Blinking back tears, she looked up, seeing that Castiel was already making his way to them. But in the process, he had turned his back to Walt. Claire called out again, this time loudly in warning, "Cas!"

Walt sneered, wasting no time taking advantage of Castiel's distraction. The knife gleamed silver in the sunlight when he held it up, poised to stab Castiel in the back. But before he could, another gunshot pierced through the air. Walt stumbled, blood trickling from his brow. He looked around, confused, before dropping face first to the ground, still holding on to the knife.

Scott seemed at ease holding the bearded man's discarded rifle. "Look behind you," he told the remaining men, calm despite the fact that he was outgunned and outnumbered.

Claire gasped.

They came through the smoke, moaning and snarling as they caught sight of the living. The men turned around to face the walkers, most of them switching to their knives or blunt weapons. They'd wasted too many bullets in their earlier panic. Claire wondered if they were even a little relieved to be fighting something they actually knew how to beat.

It was difficult to tell how many there were. One of the walkers wore a long, ratty dress. The fabric at its feet was smoking. Then it caught fire. In a matter of seconds, the creature was engulfed in a nightmarish, flaming shroud. It didn't seem to care.

One of the men, a thick armed brute, was right in the walker's path. Recoiling from the flames, the man tried to fire his pistol. It gave a couple of useless clicks. Too late, the man realized that he'd run out of bullets. He screamed when the walker descended on him with teeth and fire. He continued screaming up until Scott fired another shot, letting him out of his misery.

Claire scrambled to her feet as more and more walkers started to appear. "Oliver, you stay behind me." She said, then looked at Castiel questioningly, finding that he wasn't paying the walkers the slightest bit of attention. He had knelt down in Claire's vacated spot, taking Carl by the shoulders. Carl's back straightened by Castiel's gentle prompting. "What are you going to do?" she demanded, throat constricting at the sight of Judith.

Castiel didn't answer, and didn't have to, because Claire knew damn well what he was going to do. And Claire was terrified. And not because of the strangers or even the walkers. Because Castiel said. _He said_. Back on the ship, that healing was too dangerous. That he didn't have enough control. That he would've killed her had he tried.

But Judith... God, was there even anything _left_ to fix?

Claire almost missed the walker landing practically on top of her. She moved out of the way just in time, snapping down and finishing it off before it could stand properly.

"They're everywhere!" Mikey said hurriedly. He had his pocket knife in his hand, the only weapon he had on him when the van had crashed.

He was right. The men were almost by their sides, backing up from the walkers coming at them through the smoke and fire. More came from above, coming down at them from the high ground bracketing the underpass. It wasn't a herd, but single units drawn in by the one-sided firefight.

Another walker made a grab at her, broken jaw snapping grotesquely. Claire dodged its grasping hands, sending her blade upwards and slicing through its brittle skull. She hissed, glancing back and seeing a cluster coming their way from farther down the road. They were trapped. The next walker she faced was tougher, newly dead, and Claire struggled with it for a moment until she managed to push it away, shoving it toward Jake, who batted at it with his crowbar.

"We can't keep this up for much longer," Jake said without pausing to rest, swinging at the next in line.

Claire agreed but couldn't say so, mouth shut tight on account of a spray of rotted blood. Another dead body fell to her feet. She couldn't spare a moment to glance at Castiel. She also couldn't help but think that a herd would've been easier to deal with. At least then you knew where it was coming from.

She was going for the next one, a once tall, heavyset man who was now a tall, heavyset _dead man_ , when a thought rang in her head:

 _Close your eyes_.

She couldn't disobey, despite _feeling_ the walker's rancid moan hitting her right in the face. Her eyes slammed shut on their own.

Light erupted behind her eyelids. The ground shook beneath her feet. The wind shrieked in her ears. Claire dropped to her knees. And prayed.

It ended abruptly. For several long moments, Claire heard nothing but the ringing in her ears. She stayed on the ground, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut. Her eyes snapped open when she heard Carl's hitching sobs... and saw him staring down at Judith.

Judith, who was very much alive, and looking up at her brother with a bewildered expression.

The walkers and the men who attacked them were all dead. Bodies littered the road as far as Claire could see, mouths opened in a death snarl, eyeholes burnt black and sizzling. Claire had seen this sort of thing before. Only, last time, it had been demons. She also remembered, in the slippery sort of way one would remember a dream, as _they_ \- Castiel in Claire's body - burned the demons from the inside out. When it was over, _they_ turned to her father, slumped and bleeding on the ground…

Claire shook off the memory as she half crawled over the bodies, until she was kneeling by Carl's side once again. She lifted her hand, tentatively, resting it on Judith's fragile chest. Her shirt, the pretty one with the pink and yellow elephants, was in tatters and absolutely covered in blood. More of it than Claire would have thought Judith had in her. But the skin underneath was whole.

Carl watched Claire's hand moving. He was taking short, gasping breaths. The bandage on his face was drenched in Judith's blood.

"You were dead," Carl informed Judith in a hoarse whisper. A tear slid down his face to land on her cheek. Judith reached out to touch it. Then, eyebrows scrunched, reached up to run her fingers on Carl's wet face. He flinched, repeating, "You were dead."

" _Cal_ ," Judith mumbled in her childish drawl, patting Carl's tear-streaked face. Then, repeating his often spoken words back at him: "Don't cry."

Carl's face crumbled. Judith wriggled, whining in protest, when Carl suddenly drew her to his chest, crying harder than ever before.

"Holy shit," Enid said quietly, meeting Claire's eyes. She stroked the back of Carl's head, her eyes glittering and wide in amazement.

"Holy shit," Claire agreed, grinning. "He did it." Her smile died when she realized Castiel wasn't actually there. For a moment, she was afraid that she would find him as just another body on the ground, empty vessel burnt from the inside out. Then she spotted him making his way down the road. "Wait here," she told the others, standing up.

Castiel wasn't running away as much as he was stumbling, every step an obvious effort, using one of the stone walls for support. He didn't stop when Claire called out his name, not even when she caught up with him.

"Cas," she said, huffing, "where are you going?"

Castiel's strength gave out. With a grunt, he sank down to his hands and knees. Claire reached out to touch his shoulder. Suddenly, he lashed out at her, shoving her back with aggressive strength.

"Ow! What the hell?" Claire hissed, rubbing her sore elbow.

"Get back," Castiel said gruffly, still on his knees, facing away from her. He held up one hand to stave her off, and she was startled to see that his skin was almost translucent, veins pulsing with light. " _Get away from me_."

"Cas-"

" _I said get back_!"

He groaned and the ground shook. Claire stopped where she stood, riding the tremors and counting the passing seconds until it ended.

"Okay," she released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I'm staying right here, okay?"

Castiel didn't reply. Claire watched, helplessly, as he scrabbled at the ground, cement crumbling in his hands. As if he was trying to find purchase, some sort of an anchor.

"What's wrong with him?" she heard Carl say, alarmed.

Claire looked over her shoulder, not surprised to find the others had come running at the first sign of trouble. Even Carl, who looked faint and absolutely terrified, clutching a restless Judith to his chest, had come. Claire met his wide-eyed gaze, swallowed, and made an urgent gesture, motioning to all of them that they needed to stand back. Then she turned her attention back to Castiel.

"Cas, I'm not… I'm not coming any closer." Praying she wasn't doing him any more harm, Claire began to babble, going off on just a hunch. "I'm still right here, alright? You need to focus on my voice, now. I'm right here. Cas. _Cas_. I'm not leaving you." Her voice broke a little when he suddenly cried out in pain, still clutching at the ground. " _Breathe_ , Cas. Just, breathe. You can do this, I know you can. You saved Judith, _you did it_. She's gonna want to say thanks. And… think about Dean! Just think. Your boyfriend's gonna be _so mad_ if you blow up. You don't want that, do you? So, please don't do that. You better not do that, Cas. _Castiel_. Do you hear me? Pull it together, come on-"

Slowly, Castiel's frantic spasms subsided. The little flashes of light that burned Claire's retinas were becoming less frequent. It was _working_.

Encouraged, Claire persisted, "You're doing great, Cas. Keep focusing on me. That's it, you got it. I'm not leaving you. I swear, I'm not going anywhere. Focus on me. _On me_. Deep breaths-"

Claire didn't even notice the thrumming energy in the air until it suddenly died down. Castiel's shoulders lost their tension before he sagged, falling on his front. Heart caught in her throat, Claire closed the distance between them, falling to her knees besides his prone body.

She turned turned him over so that he was lying on his back instead. He seemed heavier like this, motionless. His clothes were riddled with tears and his skin was flaked with blood, with more of it staining his new coat and white shirt. But just like Judith, his skin was whole and unblemished. In fact, there wasn't a single mark on him. No bullet holes, not so much as a bruise. He was, however, far too still.

" _Cas_ ," Claire choked on his name when she held out a trembling hand in front of his face and didn't feel a puff of breath. Checking his pulse yielded similar results. "Where did the all the bullets even go?" she wondered, almost hysterically. "Did you eat them?" She hit his chest with her fist. "Cas, come on. Don't you dare be dead. Don't you dare. You don't get to do this to me. Wake up, _you bastard_."

She hit him again and almost screamed when he suddenly coughed, spitting up blood. "Ohmigod, I'm so sorry!" she said when he blinked up at her in confusion, ragged breaths settling. "Cas?" she asked, but his eyes were fluttering shut once more. "Cas!"

He was breathing, though. Definitely breathing.

"You-" Claire settled back on her haunches, sighing- " _holy shit_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that SPN finale, y'all? Walt and Roy even had a cameo. Am I psychic, or what?


	23. Grim Reaping

Claire sensed the other kids' approach, their apprehension. "It's okay, he's just knocked out," she called without turning, unable to look away from Castiel. "He's alive," she added quietly, as if reassuring herself.

It seemed so quiet now, after all the violence. Claire's eyes ached, uncomfortably dry despite the rising lump in her throat. _Crisis averted_ , she thought, numbed with relief. If she ignored the blood and the fact that he was lying in a road, Castiel almost looked like he was sleeping. He _never_ slept; Claire had never thought to appreciate that about him. It made him look younger, a lot more like Jimmy Novak.

Claire didn't expect to be tackled from behind in a hug that would rock her forward on her knees. Long, dark hair spilled down Claire's front when Enid tucked her chin over Claire's shoulder and squeezed her tightly.

"Hey," Claire said in a shaky voice, lifting a hand to pat Enid's arm. "What's up?"

Enid laughed quietly, sounding a vibration against Claire's back. "Not much. You?" She pulled back until she was kneeling next to Claire, a steadying presence at her side. Enid's expression wavered when she got a closer look at Castiel. " _Holy shit._ They shot him. Like, _a lot_."

Claire turned her head at the sound of shuffling footsteps. The others drew closer, their shadows looming over the unconscious Castiel. "It looks worse than it is," Claire said, feeling uneasy by their frightened expressions. "Carl," she called, trying to catch his eye, "are you okay?"

Carl looked pretty far from okay, actually. He was staring at Castiel with a dazed expression, the blood-stained bandage on his face accentuating his paleness. Judith sat against his hip, painted red but without signs of discomfort except confusion. The was no trace of the angry wound that had only recently gaped through her chest and neck. It wasn't a sight Claire would soon forget.

"Not really," Carl said plainly.

" _Cash,_ " Judith spoke up suddenly. "Ca-aal, Cash!" The two-year-old pointed at Castiel with a stubby finger, slurring his name as usual. She wriggled in a way that said she wanted to be let down _right now_.

Her squirming seemed to pull Carl out of his daze. "Hey, hey, Judy. Calm down," he said gently, rocking her a little. "Cas can't play right now. He's sleeping." His lower lip wobbled. Then his breath hitched, almost in a sob. Looking straight at Claire, he asked, "He brought her back, didn't he?"

Claire nodded slowly.

"I think he's healed," Enid announced, moving Castiel coat lapel to uncovered more of the blood splattered shirt underneath. Her hand hovered over his chest before she tentatively peeled back a strip of fabric. "There's not a mark on him," she murmured, not sounding surprised at all. "Still, what a bunch of assholes."

" _Dead assholes_ ," Jake pointed out, frowning down at their unconscious friend. "Cas, you are one scary mother-"

"Leave him alone," said Claire harshly. Her eyes seemed to be drawn to the blood splatter on Castiel's cheek. Bits of gravel were stuck to it from when he had collapsed on the road before she managed to roll him over. "Goddammit," Claire whispered, struck by a sudden rush of anger. Pulling her sleeve over her hand, she began to swipe at his skin. "This was never supposed to happen," she said through gritted teeth. "He is _not okay_ and he's not _supposed_ to do anything stupid like blasting or _healing-_ "

Enid caught Claire's hand. "I don't think that's helping."

"Sorry," Claire breathed. She glanced at Carl, finding him looking absolutely stricken. "Sorry," she repeated, almost in a whisper. "I'm glad Judith's okay. I am."

Then, to her horror, she burst into tears.

Claire stood up on shaky legs and turned her back to the others, covering her eyes so she wouldn't have to see them looking at her like she'd lost her damn mind. A hand touched her shoulder. Claire flinched, shrugging off the comforting gesture like it burned her. "Don't touch me," she said thickly, taking a shuddering breath to keep herself from sobbing. "You don't get it - this is all my fault."

"It's really not," Enid was quick to say.

"It is," Claire insisted, squeezing the bridge of her nose. Still the tears kept on coming. "All of it. I could've stopped the car and _I didn't_. And then Judith almost died and Cas almost died and we lost all our stuff..."

"That's not on you," said Carl quietly, giving her pause. "I distracted you."

Claire turned to look him in the eye. "No," she said, horrified. "I should've paid more attention to the road. If I wasn't driving so damn fast-"

"You were just trying to get us home," Carl protested, shaking his head helplessly. "I shouldn't have been so pushy about it."

"I _saw_ the damn spikes-"

"Oh, will you stop?" said Enid sharply. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Carl and Claire in turn. "It was a freakin' ambush! You wanna play the blame game? Fine, I'll give you a hint:" her voice adopted a mocking gruff intonation when she quoted, "'Take the girls.'" She huffed, aggravated. "Give me a break. _We're alive._ We survived and we're gonna keep on surviving. You got that?"

Claire sniffed pitifully. "I don't think you'll make it home for dinner."

Enid rolled her eyes. "Don't be an idiot."

They all startled when a nearby corpse began to jerk and twitch. Oliver jumped away from it, dropping the stick he was holding in surprise. The walker, a pitiful-looking thing in nothing but a pair of soiled boxers, continued to spasm for several moments before settling, a buildup of hissing steam escaping from one of its ruined eye sockets.

"Ewww," said Oliver, suitably impressed.

" _Jesus Christ_ ," Jake said loudly, looking at the walker in undisguised horror.

"Pretty sure it was all Cas," Scott mumbled.

"Bite me, Scotty," Jake said before he turned to her. "Claire, what _was_ that?" He spread his arms in a pointed gesture, indicating the bodies scattered about the road. The air smelled prominently of burnt flesh. "What _the fuck_ happened to their heads?"

Claire returned Jake's expectant glare with wet eyes. "How should I know?" she demanded. She might have seen this sort of thing before (had _done_ this sort of thing before, in a way), but she had no actual explanation besides 'oh, an angel did it'.

"You're the expert on Cas-stuff," Jake shot back.

"What? Did I grow wings all of a sudden?" Claire threw her arms out, exasperated. " _I don't know_. It's just-" she shook her head, braid flying- " _a thing_ he does."

" _A_ _thing_?"

"Guys," Mikey said, stepping up between them, face pale under his dark hair. "Can we freak out about this _later_?" His eyes darted around nervously. "This doesn't look like the safest place to be right now."

"He's not wrong," Enid said. "That blast probably bought us some time, but we're sitting ducks. We can't just wait here till Cas wakes up." Her expression turned thoughtful. "Hey, do you think the assholes had a car?" She moved to look in the direction their attackers had come from, past the crash site. "I could take a quick look."

Claire frowned, following Enid's line of sight. The fire was still going strong, gas spill spreading across the road and blocking anyone from going in that direction. If their attackers had a vehicle, it could only be on the other side of that fire blockade. But stepping through the fire would be suicide.

Going _around_ , however…

"How do you plan on getting there?" Jake asked, raising an eyebrow.

Enid grinned. "Boost me up?" She touched one of the stone walls that lined the road.

"Figures," Jake sighed before stepping up to the task. "Come along, squirrel."

"Enid," Claire called the moment Enid had the high ground. Her voice was still a little wobbly from crying. "You get _five minutes_ , so don't go too far. And be careful!" Enid gave her a thumbs up before disappearing over the edge.

"We should check the bodies for supplies. Guns, too," said Scott, fingering the strap of the rifle he had picked up. "I don't think they used up all the ammo."

"I'll stay here," Carl said. "Watch over Cas."

"Jake, keep him company?" Claire asked. Jake rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Claire turned to Oliver. "You too, kiddo," she said, ruffling the boy's hair. "You're in charge till I get back."

Grabbing Mikey and Scott by their shirts, she pulled them along until they were fumbling after her on their own, Mikey a little less enthusiastically than Scott. It was a short walk down the trench road to where the majority of the corpses were. Claire remembered that in the early days, looting bodies had been frowned upon. Now, it was a matter of course.

They didn't bother checking the walkers. Most looked like they'd been dead for quite some time. It was easy to tell the bodies apart, anyway. For starters, their _living_ attackers hadn't had the chance to decay yet. On top of that, they were all heavily tattooed. Kind of badly, too, in Claire's humble opinion.

"You don't think they'll turn, do you?" Mikey asked, scrunching his nose at one of the fresh cadavers.

"Nah," said Claire from her perch over her own corpse. The eyes were a twisted, burnt mess. "It worked on the walkers, didn't it? I think their brains are mush." Just to confirm, Claire drew her blade and shoved it through the dead man's skull. It burst open, spilling black goo on the asphalt. Claire grimaced. "Case in point."

The next body Claire inspected didn't have the same burnt out eyes. Instead, the man appeared to have died from a bullet to the back of the head. Claire frowned, realizing that it must have been Scott's doing. In fact, a few of the men appeared to have died that way. At the time, Claire had thought the gunshots had been the men firing at the walkers, but now it appeared that while the rest of them were taking out the dead, Scott had kept his focus on the living

Claire looked at Scott, puzzled. "Not that I'm complaining, but…"

"You don't waste bullets on the _dead_ ," said Scott, matter of factly. "These guys," he jerked his chin at one of the shot corpses, "they were making a run for it." He shrugged. "I figured, if they weren't helping us take out the dead ones, least they could do was keep them distracted. Y'know, as grub?"

"This is freaky," said Mikey, raising his voice to get their attention. "Check this out. I think these guys were, like, Satanists."

The body he was looking over was easily recognizable - it was missing most of its head (the reddish beard remained mostly intact). Like the rest, the body was covered in chicken scratch tattoos. Mikey used his pocket knife to point out a particular one, half hidden in the ruddy chest hairs that poked above the man's dirty wifebeater.

"That's a pentagram, right?" Mikey said, squinting. "It's like a cult or something; they've all got the same tattoos."

"They're not Satanists - they're _hunters_ ," Claire said in realization, peering at the familiar design. "Monster hunters," she clarified, "Sam and Dean are ones, too. I guess it explains why this asshole kept going on about silver." Scowling, she gave the body a little kick. "They're supposed to be the _good guys_."

"I don't know, Claire," Mikey said, pulling his shoulders. "They really panicked."

"Not this dude," said Scott, jutting his chin to indicate the body sprawled at their feet. "And there was that one other, the guy who tried to stab Cas in the back…"

"Walt," Claire recalled, nodding. "Nice shooting, by the way."

"Thanks." Scott ducked his head shyly.

Mikey gestured at the tattoo again. "So, this is what, a badge of honor?"

"Anti-possession tattoo," Claire said, shaking her head. "My mom had one." She considered the crudely etched symbol. No doubt, it was the same design her mother had worn. Same five-point star, same little 'sun' around the edges. But the inkwork was sloppy, unlike her mother's discreet little tattoo.

"Your mom hunted monsters?" Scott asked, eyebrows rising.

"No, but she got possessed once." And wasn't that the Novak family curse. She clarified, "By a demon."

Claire had only met Sam and Dean that one time. That was when she had last seen her father alive (if not in the flesh). The Winchesters hadn't stuck around long, but they'd left Amelia Novak with a sketch of the demon warding. For that, at least, Claire was grateful. Amelia had breathed a little easier after getting the ink done. Even though her own mother, Claire's deeply religious grandma, had thrown a fit.

"I was supposed to get one just like it when I turned sixteen," Claire mused out loud. Except that by then, the world had ended. In the grand scale of looming threats, _dead people with cravings_ took precedence over _demonic possession_.

"What about the rest of these?" Mikey continued frowning at the hunter's strange tattoos. "Do they mean anything?"

"It just looks like chicken scratches to me." Claire shrugged. "Cas would know."

Scott perked. "We'll show him when he wakes up. Mike, d'you still have that notepad?"

"It's _Mikey_ ," he said emphatically, sighing. "And yeah." Mikey pulled a small notepad and a little pen from his back pocket. He ripped the first two pages off, tossing them over his shoulder before handing the items to Scott. "I guess I don't need it, now that we've lost our inventory." He pouted.

It felt a little skeevy, but they tore off the headless asshole's wifebeater and overshirt so Scott could get a better look at the designs stretching across his chest, arms and protruding belly. Tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, Scott quickly sketched out the different symbols, keeping them more or less true to form. Proportional, even.

"Got it. Now, turn him around. See if he's got more on his back," Scott said. He was proven right - the tattoos went all the way down the man's back, disappearing past his waistline. After a pause, Scott added, "Pants and underwear, too."

"Dude," said Mikey, aghast.

"What?" Scott argued. "It might be _important_." To himself, he muttered. "Better damn hope it's important."

While Scott creeped, Claire went to get Walt's silver knife. On closer inspection, it didn't look much like Claire's own angel blade. It was long and silver, but had a duller, matte finish and a jagged edge. Claire decided to show it to Castiel anyway, as there were runes etched on the base. Turning Walt's body around, she took his holster and sidearm too.

"We really have to go," Claire said, standing back up. "Where the hell is Enid?"

The sound of a speeding vehicle made all three startle. They jumped out of the way just as an ugly beige pickup truck shoved past the wreckage, the metal on the truck's side screeching in protest when it checked the burning metal husk. Claire caught a glimpse of long dark hair in the driver's seat when the truck rushed past them. The truck trampled over the bodies in its path before it pulled to a rough stop.

"Enid, what the hell?" Claire demanded, picking herself off the ground. "You could've killed yourself with that stunt!"

"But I didn't!" said Enid, grinning as she all but tumbled out of the driver's seat. She pointed at the fire. "Holy shit, did you guys see that? Not bad for a first timer, huh?"

Scott blinked at her. "You can't drive?"

"Um, I think I just _did_."

" _I think_ I'm going to kill you." Claire said and threw her arms around Enid in a hug. Enid just laughed.

 

* * *

 

They wasted no time taking off after loading the truck. They grabbed what they could off the bodies, but it wasn't much; there were plenty of guns, but hardly any ammo was left. Castiel had remained stubbornly unconscious even as they carried him into the back of the pickup. Claire didn't hesitate to settle beside him, all too happy to leave the driving to Jake. Enid, Scott and Carl took to the back as well (the latter managing to bring himself to drop Judith in Mikey's lap in the truck's front passenger seat, squeezed together with Oliver who was none too happy about not getting a ride in the open).

Traveling in the back of a pickup truck had seemed like a refreshing change at first. They barely managed an hour before they were missing their van. It might have been crowded and stifling, but at least it had kept a roof over their heads. By noon, it was clearly turning out to be an exceptionally hot day. And while the heat was kept at bay by the wind, it didn't stop them from soaking up the sun.

"I miss my hat," Carl grumbled loudly, holding a hand over his face for a tiny bit of shade. His skin had already adopted a rosy tint.

Enid was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Scott, peering at the little notepad he had in his hands. "Hunters, huh?" Enid said, her long hair whipping about her face. They had already recounted their discovery to the others. "Some of these kind of look like the ones we drew in McLaren."

"What, the wards?" Claire glanced down at Castiel.

Carl frowned in consideration. "You think that's what spooked Cas earlier? If they've got their place mojo'd up like this, would he be able to tell? He said something about not liking the neighborhood."

Claire snickered. "Oh, I'm pretty sure Cas likes hunters alright."

"I'm pretty sure I don't," Carl said, snorting.

"I saw more of them," Enid blurted out. "Hunters, I mean. When I was out getting the truck. They never saw me," she added quickly, holding up a hand to stop Claire from asking. "There were walkers coming up the hill - they had their hands full."

Claire's mouth thinned. " _Good_."

They drove for another hour or so, just in the general direction of Alexandria, stopping often to search for supplies. There was little to be found. It appeared that the whole area had been picked clean. It didn't help that the truck seemed to be on its last legs, dashboard lighting up like a Christmas tree and engine grunting and heaving alarmingly.

"No food, no water," Claire complained loudly, sitting cross-legged in the pickup's bed. Loose strands of her hair kept flying into her eyes. "And we're practically running on fumes. Those _cheap motherfuckers_."

"And no air conditioning!" Jake shouted at them from the driver's seat.

They almost missed the sign for the freshwater lake. It was a good thing they hadn't, as the lake itself was quite small and not at all visible from the main road. Following the unpaved road as directed by the sign, they endure the slap of overgrown tree branches with the promise of cool fresh water. Their luck held out: they got all the way down to the end of the trail before the truck died out with a final gurgle.

They found themselves in a tranquil little spot, surrounded by trees that created a fair bit of shade while being sparse enough that nothing could really sneak up on them. The lake itself was closer to a large pond, with a rocky shoreline and a wooden pier that just begged to be used as a jumping board.

"Oh, check it out," said Claire, focusing on what she had initially assumed to be shrubbery but was actually a trailer covered in vines and a heavy camouflage tarp. They circled the trailer for signs of any recent human presence. The windows were all boarded shut, the nails rusting. A fire pit near the trailer showed no sign of having been recently lit. Claire nudged a dented metal pot with her shoe. "I don't think anyone lives here anymore."

"Look," said Jake, lifting another tarp to reveal fishing supplies. "Hook, line and sinker." He pulled up a fishing rod, grinning. "Literally."

While the others combed the surrounding area, Claire and Carl took the task of rummaging through the trailer's contents. The lone walker inside didn't give them too much trouble, despite having once been an unusually large man (with a rather obvious bite wound on his neck).

"Just - crap," Claire said with a sigh, closing the little pantry door with a little too much force. The owner had been something of a hoarder, they discovered. Unfortunately, there was very little they could do with horse-shaped figurines and an unholy-sized collection of empty liquor bottles. The stuffy smell and the heat inside the trailer was giving her a headache. "No first-aid kit or anything, either, and um, Carl..." she turned to look at him, hesitating a little.

Carl stopped rummaging through the dead man's closet long enough to look at her questioningly. The blood that had soaked through his bandage had turned a dark brown. "What?"

"You've got to take that off. It might get infected," Claire finished reluctantly, motioning at her own face.

"Yeah," Carl said after a moment had passed. His face tilted away, he reached up to peel off the soiled bandage, wincing when the medical tape pulled at his skin. "The doc said I gotta start airing it out, anyway," he added with forced confidence.

"It's not that bad," Claire said immediately, wincing inwardly at how insincere she sounded. In truth, it did look pretty damn awful, even half-hidden under his long hair. Carl's eye was just… gone, leaving a scarred, angry red hole behind. Oddly, it looked somewhat like the messed up bodies they had left stranded on the road.

Carl snorted. "Come on, I don't think we'll find anything else in here."

A noticeable hush fell over the group the moment Carl and Claire stepped outside with their meager loot.

"No bandages," Carl said tersely, dropping a backpack full of oversized clothing at his feet. "Judith's still asleep, right?" he asked unnecessarily, as the toddler was obviously still snoozing in Mikey's lap.

"Dude," said Jake, staring openly despite the pointed glares Claire was sending his way. "When can you stop covering that shit with bandages, anyway? We should find you a real eye-patch. Like, with crossbones and everything. It'll look so freaking _badass_." He pressed on when Carl didn't say anything, "Eye-patch, man! Like Captain Hook."

"Jake," Carl said hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if Jake was making fun of him. "Hook was missing _a hand_."

"Pirates got eye-patches," Jake said stubbornly. "Just think about how cool you're gonna look. Or, you know, whatever. I'm kind of digging the cyclops chic, too." He shrugged. "What are y'all staring at, anyway? You've seen a hell of a lot worse. Look at Claire, she's got walker gunk _in her hair_."

Carl glanced at Claire, who fingered her stiff braid with a grimace. "You do have some gunk in your hair," he said, mouth twitching. His head was held a little higher when he turned back to Jake. "I guess I could wear an eye-patch. Just... no crossbones."

Jake hooted in triumph. " _Awesome_. We'll keep an eye out for you." He was about to return to his task of fixing up the fishing rod when he realized what he had said and began to snicker. "Keep an eye out. Get it?"

Carl punched him in the shoulder. But not very hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXHAUSTED! Sorry the updates are coming slowly, you guys. I really appreciate everyone who follows this story - your feedback is a great motivator. Thank you so much!


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